Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Dawn brought a groan to Reggie’s bill, compelling the miserable mallard to flip himself over to try and escape the unwanted rays. As soon as the light was shaded from the bassist’s form, he was reminded of exactly how much he now needed the sun. He shuddered unhappily as the darkness quickly stole every ounce of warmth from his body, draining away what little energy he currently possessed. He practically had to force himself to flip back over, throwing an arm over his eyes to lessen the sun’s assault.
He cursed internally for a few moments as though the unspoken complaints would convince the light to go away; his soft grumbles were all that betrayed the inner dialog— a quiet testament to his foul mood. A leafy hand searched blindly for his discarded coat, his still foggy brain incapable of remembering where he had deposited it the night before. He could barely even remember how they had gotten back to the manor let alone recall where the garment had fallen.
His arm flopped listlessly over the side of the bed, creeping along the ground in his pursuit. It took a few moments for Reggie to realize that something wasn’t quite the same as usual. Weary eyes widened in a mix of curiosity and confusion at the odd feeling that was spreading through his arm. He glanced to the side, scrutinizing the slim, green limb, to examine the source of the abnormal feeling. Reggie blinked in disbelief at the vine-like arm, thoroughly intrigued by the sight before him. The appendage had been subconsciously stretched past what would have been physically possible just a few days earlier. He pulled the arm back towards himself, quivering slightly at the still foreign sensation. Reggie stared at his hand in disbelief for a few moments before deciding to try the action again.
“Huh, well isn’t that the damndest thing,” he muttered softly to himself before reaching back over the side of the bed to resume his search. Had he been more awake he probably would have been a bit more distressed at the additional abnormality.
After several painful moments, the search finally produced the black and white garment and the promise of nicotine it represented. Sluggish hands pulled the coat over his body, laying it over himself like a blanket, in an attempt to state the need for the familiar feeling of it against his skin. Reggie sighed heavily as he fished through the trench coat’s inner pocket for the cigarettes.
The brief search quickly produced the mostly empty pack, slightly crushed from the previous night’s exploits, for Reggie to rifle through. A soft sigh of relief greeted the lone cigarette nestled within the foil-lined box. At least he wouldn’t have to go find another one just yet.
After several long moments of staring at the high ceiling absently and smoking, the still drowsy mallard finally managed to convince his stiff joints to move so that he could open the dark curtains further. He couldn’t help but tip his head towards the recuperative illumination; it wasn’t enough. His newly acquired need for light compelled him to search for a way out of the dark room. A few moments of searching produced a mode of escape that was previously unnoticed to the bassist. Reggie tipped his head in contemplation momentarily before grabbing one of his unopened packs of cigarettes to accompany him on his journey outside. The tall, glass doors were surprisingly heavy and seemed to almost resist being opened, groaning in protest as Reggie pushed them apart so that he could step onto the small balcony just outside them. Reggie couldn’t help the euphoric shivers that spread through his body as he stepped fully into the sun; it was the one aspect of his transformation that was quickly becoming a secret guilty pleasure to the plant-duck.
After only a few moments in the orange-tinted light, Reggie was inexplicitly struck with the irresistible desire to be closer to the source of ecstasy. Blue eyes tilted towards the nearby peak of the massive building, considering thoughtfully for a moment. Leafy hands lifted slightly as Reggie looked down at the appendages and then back up to the sloped roof above him. The idea was just ridiculous enough to work.
He flicked his expended smoke over the balcony edge as he considered the odd notion. His manner was almost timid as he tried stretching his arms again, the action requiring him to focus intently on the movement. He had to admit, it was somewhat satisfying when he finally managed to get both slim appendages to extend. It only took a few moments for the wriggling vines to reach the lightning rod situated atop the roof. It took some unflattering wiggling and odd stretching of his torso to accomplish the climb, but he eventually managed to struggle his way up the sloped surface.
He sighed in relief as he finally reached his nearby destination. Perched upon the towering apex Reggie could see the entire expanse of the city spread out below him. The fiery orange of the rising sun lent the illusion that the entire city was burning. Or was that just from the fans? He lit a cigarette to celebrate his small victory as he looked over the metropolis. It was a foreign feeling for Reggie to look down at others. Yet it was somehow oddly gratifying. Maybe this fame thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.
His thoughts wandered aimlessly as he looked over the disturbed city. From the top of the immense manor he could actually see out to the badlands, the greenhouse barely visible in the distance. He wasn’t sure why, but he was suddenly struck with the strange feeling that the lifeless structure was calling out for him; it was oddly analogous to an old friend begging for a visit. He was shaken from the strange contemplations by an abnormally animate stream of water that flowed up the excessive slope. Reggie jolted, nearly falling from his perch, as the eerily cognate liquid slipped into the familiar form of the manor’s resident water-dog.
“Aagh! Don’t DO that!” Reggie gripped at the smirking drummer, clutching at his chest in an attempt to calm his racing heart.
“What can I say?” Bud responded, chortling in amusement at the flustered duck, “You’re just too damn cute when you’re scared shitless.”
Reggie cocked a suspicious brow at the still chuckling canine; he was starting to seriously question the drummer’s presumably flippant remarks. He merely grumbled in reply, annoyed expression settling on his face at the other’s amusement.
“So uh, I gotta ask… what the hell brings ya to these parts Reg?” Bud questioned with a slight chuckle when the other didn’t reply.
“Need sun man,” Reggie answered simply, pointing a finger at the sky.
Bud lifted a brow upward, as though to confirm the idea that the burning sphere above them represented such a significant source of nutrition for the mallard. “Hm… well that makes sense I suppose,” he muttered, reclining against the slanted roof in a gravity defying way that would have been quite impossible before his mutation.
Bud looked over at the other when he didn’t reply further. His head tilted curiously at the way Reggie was craning his neck at the sky, eyes closed and purple locks almost shimmering in the morning light. The way the rays spread across the soft foliage in a shimmering display of lavender shades almost made him shiver.
Beautiful. The thought was somehow startling to Bud. He shook his head frantically, trying to remove the repeating word from his mind. Liquid eyes slid shut to shield the oddly gorgeous sight from his vision. He was starting to run out of excuses to convince himself that he wasn’t attracted to the moody mallard.
“So… how’d you get up here anyway?” he finally asked— a further attempt to shift the focus of his thoughts.
He was surprised to hear what could almost be classified as a chuckle come from the other at the question. “Heh, pretty cool trick actually,” Reggie replied, waiting for Bud to focus his eyes on him before continuing, “Check it out.” He lifted a hand, releasing its hold on the metal rod to assist in his demonstration. Bud shifted so that his elbows supported his weight as he watched curiously. The thin arm stretched, extending beyond what Bud would have thought possible. Reggie wriggled it slightly before he snapped it back, coiling the appendage once again to its normal length. Reggie almost smirked at the mildly shocked expression on the other’s face. Bud grinned amusedly at him. The action only served to wipe what little semblance of a grin was present on Reggie’s green features. Bud suddenly found himself wishing desperately the mallard would smile.
“Well, feeling better?” he asked
“No. I’m hung over as hell,” Reggie replied cocking an eye at the lounging water dog, “I believe I have you to thank for that.”
Bud smirked at the comment, eyes moving to look over the waking city. “You’re welcome.”
The sound of the other shifting prompted his gaze back to the bassist. He watched as the other mutant grabbed the pole with both hands and stretched his arms out to lower himself to the balcony below. The action made Reggie’s previous claims quite clear.
Bud slipped down the slanted roof after him in an almost lazy manner, his water sliding over the edge in a small glistening waterfall. Reggie’s eyes narrowed in irritation as some of the liquid splashed into his purple hair. He couldn’t help but wonder if the other did it on purpose.
Bud seemed essentially oblivious to the fact that he had just doused his cranky companion. Reggie shook his hair erratically to try and remove some of the annoying water. Something about the carefree, overly elated smile that was currently plastered on Bud’s face only served to worsen Reggie’s mood. He would have to be a morning person.
Reggie groaned as his head chose that moment to throb horribly, rubbing at his temples to try and ease some of the pain. The soft sound of discomfort earned him Bud’s attention once again. He lit another cigarette to avoid having to answer the questioning look on the other’s face. Bud knew better than to push him.
“Come on Reg, let’s go get some breakfast. I need booze,” he said, slipping back into the dim room.
Without the threat of Bud seeing, Reggie couldn’t stop the mildly amused smirk that made its way onto his face. As much as he hated to admit it there was something about the drummer’s lighthearted attitude that was annoyingly infectious. He shook his head slightly to wipe the small grin off his face before he followed the dripping dog through his room. He certainly could use some kind of breakfast. There was something his whole body still seemed to be craving. Besides maybe some aspirin.
A quiet scraping accompanied the journey from Reggie’s roots dragging softly against the tiled ground. His shoulder was rubbing gently against the wall beside them as he leaned up against it to assist in keeping him upright. Bud almost considered offering his help.
The soft chatter and several telltale cackles coming from the nearby kitchen told Reggie that the two local guitarists were already up. He had to force back the groan that threatened to sound at the thought of seeing the other two so early. Reggie was learning quite quickly that there was a limit to how much of their antics he could stand. He squinted against the overly bright kitchen, so that he could see the two through the painful light.
They were talking softly amongst themselves, giggling childishly at some joke that would obviously be amusing only to them. Jack was leaned over the table spooning a colorful cereal into his mouth between laughs while Elmo plucked quietly at his ever-present guitar his soft snickers making him fumble slightly. The quiet sound of Reggie’s feet against the ground was the only noise that accompanied the two mutants into the kitchen, but it was apparently enough to alert Jack of their presence.
His grin spread quickly after a glance over his shoulder affirmed their presence. Reggie didn’t like the suggestive look he was giving them.
“Why hello there lovelies. Sleeeep well?” he questioned, eyebrows waggling to emphasize what he actually meant.
Bud’s entertained smirk gave away his slight amusement at the comment despite the roll of his eyes. “Not THAT well Jack.”
Reggie chose not to comment, mostly due to the fact that he didn’t know what to say, but his deep green tint spoke magnitudes to the embarrassment that the playful question provoked. He grumbled softly as he dropped himself into one of the stools beside Bud at the long center island. Despite his best efforts, Jack’s quiet, but still maniacal, laughs were difficult to ignore. Reggie propped his chin exhaustedly on the countertop, the newly acquired level of flexibility in his spine making the position surprisingly comfortable.
Even from across the room, Reggie could practically feel the gaze of a certain mischievous mallard scrutinizing him. He sighed heavily at the stare. “What Quack?” he finally questioned, not even bothering to shift his head in order to look at him.
“How’s that hangover treating ya there Bushy?”
The miserable groan Reggie offered in reply was obviously enough of an answer for the giggling mallard. It didn’t take long for the jester’s attention to return to the rodent beside him. Reggie’s eyes rolled as he resisted the urge to groan yet again, shifting his gaze around the counter in an attempt to stray his thoughts. An excessively bright, and oddly cheery, box suddenly caught his eye. He lifted his head from the surface beneath him in curiosity; the cereal was undeniably out of place in the steel adorned kitchen. It only took a moment for his hazy mind to realize that it must have been what Jack was currently munching noisily on.
“Fruities,” Reggie mumbled, cocking an eye at the vibrant box. “Oddly appropriate.”
The comment stopped Jack mid bite of the colorful concoction, prompting his shocked gaze over to the bassist. “Was that a joke at my expense Bushy?” he questioned, stupid grin spreading across his large bill. “So you’re secretly a FUN GUY after all huh?”
Reggie rolled his eyes at the laughs that followed. If he wasn’t getting so used to the jester’s lame puns he would probably have been more annoyed. He rubbed at his temples when the eye rolling caused his headache to throb horribly. He practically jumped out of his skin when he felt Bud pluck something from his head. His back straightened abruptly as he nearly fell from his stool, the perch growing unstable at the abrupt shift in weight. The unexpectedly extreme reaction caused Bud to stand up and grab him around the waist to prevent him from suffering an unfortunate meeting with the ground. The dark green tint that had never fully left Reggie since they entered the kitchen spread across his entire face once he realized the embrace Bud currently had him in.
“Uh… Bud?” Reggie questioned, too flustered to produce more of a reaction let alone remove the arm still around his midsection.
The situation left Bud speechless for a different reason. The slightly ruffled hair, the wide blue eyes and shocked expression all lent a strange sense of perfection to the moment that was difficult for him to ignore. Despite Bud’s brief mental lapse, he quickly replaced his captivated expression with one of his more usual lighthearted grins. He suddenly found himself laughing genuinely at the situation, much to Reggie’s displeasure. “You just had something in your hair,” he finally answered, still snickering slightly. Reggie didn’t seem to notice that he still hadn’t moved his hand.
“Whoa there Buddy boy tap dat on your own time!” Jack suddenly hooted across the room, effectively breaking the brief spell.
Elmo paused his plucking momentarily to smack his companion lightly at the loud cackle. The momentary break in Jack’s attention was more than enough to snap Reggie back to his senses causing him to jerk roughly away from the other’s grip. Bud couldn’t help the displeased look that crossed his face as he slipped back into his seat.
“Ow, wha’d ya do—” Jack cut himself off, realization blatant on his face, “Oooooh! Right,” he giggled, “My bad. Tap that on your own time” he repeated in an obnoxious whisper.
“Why are we whispering?” Bud asked, curling a hand over his mouth as though it would help carry his voice across the room.
“Negs threatened death on us if we didn’t… shut our… collective cock holes,” Elmo replied, obviously thinking very hard to recall the exact words the singer had used.
“Yeeeah. His mighty bitchiness needs his beauty sleep,” Jack griped in a high-pitched mocking tone, shoveling more of the sugary bits forcefully into his bill.
“Hmm, well that isn’t surprising,” Bud muttered more to himself than the guitarists.
It wasn’t long before he was compelled to glance back at Reggie. His previous embarrassment had been replaced with his still present exhaustion and discomfort. The unhappy groan was enough to tell the drummer that there was more bothering the mallard than the lasting effects from the previous night’s inebriation. Bud rubbed sheepishly at the back of his head as he tried to figure out what to say that wouldn’t insult or annoy Reggie.
“You ever gone over 10 day without eating?” Reggie questioned, addressing Bud’s concerns before he had the chance to say anything.
“Yes,” Elmo answered, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was not the one being addressed. “At least… I assume.” He scratched his head slightly as though trying to recall if it was actually true.
Reggie cocked a brow at the rodent, trying to decide who he should be answering. “Yeeah, well that’s how I feel,” he finished, propping his chin on his hands.
Bud considered this for a moment, humming softly as he looked around before his eyes fell on a large plate full of toast. Jack always insisted on making so much toast even though he never ate it: an often vain attempt to get his forgetful, and borderline anorexic, companion to eat more.
“Try this,” Bud said, pulling the plate towards the mallard.
“I don’t know. Do plants… eat toast?”
Bud rolled his eyes, suddenly annoyed: Reggie seemed to have that effect on him. “Humor me.”
Reggie lifted a brow at the toast, considering for a moment whether he actually wanted to try eating one of the starchy slices. The knowledge that Bud wasn’t about to let the idea go compelled him to lift one of the pieces to his mouth. Despite the small portion his timid bite consisted of, his body was still painfully unwilling to accept the nourishment. A leafy hand clamped over his bill as the now slimy hunk of food immediately returned from his stomach. He didn’t question the damp napkin that Bud handed him. Reggie shuddered slightly as he deposited the small bit of chewed food into the offered paper.
“Ugh! That. Was. Terrible,” he said softly shuddering as he wadded up the napkin.
“Hmm, well that didn’t work. Heh, sorry for the suggestion,” Bud said with a slight chuckle, patting Reggie’s back in an attempt at comfort. “Eating is overrated anyway.”
Reggie almost found the statement amusing. Almost. “Well, what about you people?” he queried, “I don’t exactly see anyone stuffing their face besides Jack.” He tried to ignore the immature raspberry Jack sent his way in response to the comment.
“Well I never eat and Sparky tends to just forget that particular process, so I suppose Jack’s really the only one who ever eats all that much,” Bud answered with a shrug.
“Ha, ha, you’re the fat one Quacky!” Elmo teased, prodding the munching mallard in one of his protruding cheeks.
“Am not fat!” Jack cried childishly through his mouthful of Fruities, spraying some of the macerated bits at the electrical rodent.
“Uh-huh,” Reggie muttered lifting a brow quizzically at the two bickering guitarists before looking back to Bud. “So, what about Negaduck? When does the self-proclaimed lord of the underworld feed?”
“I only feed on coffee and the souls of the innocent,” the telltale voice grumbled as said singer chose that moment to make an appearance. He made his usual trip straight to the coffee pot which had been filled hours ago by one of the many unseen servants that roamed the manor.
His ever-present black mask was slightly askew, leaving it to give glimpses of his baggy, exhausted eyes. The rest of his usual attire was missing, leaving him in only his dark pants. The ruffled nature of his feathers and telltale lipstick smears on his cheek gave evidence that he had not spent the night alone. The mallard had obviously done a number on himself, Reggie suspected from more than just booze this time around. Within a few seconds, the first cup of pure caffeine was downed and the mallard was already refilling the empty mug. Now equipped with his fresh cup of coffee, the groggy singer trudged over to sit where Reggie and Bud were currently congregating. He scratched absently at the cracked portion of his bill as he dropped himself into one of the bar stools on the opposite side of the table.
“Well, hope you kiddies all had a good time last night, cause we got a lot of shit to get done today,” he grumbled.

Reggie groaned internally, using every scrap of his willpower to keep the displeased noise to himself. He had a horrible feeling that it was going to be a very long day.

As the afternoon wore on, far less was accomplished than Negaduck had hoped.
The mallard scowled at the screen before him, listening intently for the vexing discrepancies he knew were there. Behind him the others sat in silence, accustomed to their lack of role in the editing process. Reggie shifted on the hard couch they currently occupied. He was less used to the long process of watching Negaduck delete take after take of the latest songs. He had to give the mallard one thing: he was nothing if not picky about what he allowed on his album.
The perturbed bassist shifted for the hundredth time in the past ten minutes, his continual supply of cigarettes offering little validation for the lengthy wait. He kept trying to keep himself from shifting towards the drummer beside him, but the mallard to his right was making that task increasingly difficult. The longer the wait stretched on, the harder it was for the jester to remain still, and he seemed to find solace only in the act of pestering Reggie. The plant duck hadn’t wanted to sit beside the annoyance, but a certain rodent insisted on putting as much space between him and Bud as possible. Apparently it was just a given that the guitarist was allowed whichever seat was farthest from the dripping drummer.
Reggie was growing increasingly frustrated at the entire situation. They had been there for hours and so far there had been little for him to even do since he only knew a few of their songs. Most of what he had played so far he had been forced to sight read. After another three hours of doing nothing, he finally broke down and lit the ‘special’ smokes that he kept for such occasions: his own blend of tobacco and other less legal substances. His mind wandered until he heard the duck beside him sniffing the air frantically. Blue eyes rolled at the snorting. I suppose it was too much to ask that he just wouldn’t notice.
He shifted his head to acknowledge the obnoxiousness that he knew was coming, only have the guitarist’s face pressed to his, mask-clad eyes gazing through him knowingly. Reggie didn’t quite realize that in Jack’s mind, shifting his gaze away was an admission that he had lost a game that existed only within the jester’s own mind.
“HA! I knew you kept special smokies around!” he exclaimed triumphantly, prodding the exasperated Reggie in the chest harshly.
The preoccupied singer before them spun in his chair at the obtrusive sound, growling harshly in warning to the both of them. A cigarette of the same persuasion had just forced him to shut Jack up after a similar scene only a few hours earlier. Jack leaned back against the stiff couch, arms crossed across his chest and smug grin still planted on his face. Negaduck didn’t wait for more of a reaction before turning back to the expansive screen in front of him. After four tracks of torture, he was ready to just find out what was tormenting him about them so they could move on and he was in no mood for the group behind him to slow things down anymore. It was their fault anyway. It couldn’t possibly be his magnificent singing that was the problem.
Reggie sighed irately at the duck beside him. He knew the mallard was still staring at him. At least he wasn’t pulling on his hair anymore.
“You know it’s not nice to bring candy to class if you’re not gonna share with the other kids Reggie,” Jack said quietly, grin never falling from his face.
Reggie cocked an eyebrow at him, tilting his head to the side so that he could blow his latest batch of smoke into the clown’s face.
“There. I shared,” he stated simply, turning away from the other once again.
His eyes shot open as a substantial knife suddenly embedded itself into the wall just behind them. Reggie’s startled gaze met Jack’s as they both stared at the weapon that had made its way between them.
“Share later homos. I have discerned what our problem is,” Negaduck stated as he pivoted his chair lazily around to face them.
“Finally!” Elmo groaned, moving his legs from the short table before the couch so that he was no longer reclined in the uncomfortable furniture. “I’m going to forget the next song again if we don’t get on with this soon.”
“So how do we fix the problem boss?” Bud interjected sleepily in hopes to get things back on track as soon as possible.
“Well that depends,” he replied, fixing his gaze on the bassist beside the dozing drummer. “Reginald?” he addressed the plant-duck deeply.
“Uh… yeeah?” Reggie replied nervously, unsure of how to respond to the growling mallard.
“Could you do me a favor, and SUCK a little less?!”
"Not my fault,” Reggie grumbled, “You try playing a guitar with no fingers," he finished, lifting a leafy hand for emphasis.
“Oh yeah?” Negaduck growled “Well you… actually kind of have a point,” he finished, rubbing his chin in thought as he observed the digit-less hand; aside from Reggie’s thumbs there was little to aid him in playing. After a moment of contemplation, he brought his eyes back to the bassist, grin spreading across his face. Reggie gulped in response. He’d been around long enough to know that a grinning Negaduck wasn’t usually a good thing for him.
“I can fix that,” the mallard hissed smugly, walking towards them to yank the knife from the wall.
Before Reggie even had a chance to react to facing a smirking, knife-wielding Negaduck, his right hand was captured in the mallard’s cold, harsh grip. The large blade sliced mercilessly through the thin appendage, cutting his hand down the middle so that he now supported three fingers.
"Ow, what the fuck man?!" Reggie yelled, gripping the bleeding appendage in his good hand and bringing it to his chest to protect it from the grinning mallard.
Negaduck didn't bother to reply before seizing Reggie's other hand roughly, pulling it away from its wounded companion. He cut the previously unharmed leaf quickly, giving it the same treatment as the previous. Reggie jerked away from the pain instinctively, pushing away from the other to the point that forced himself right through the drummer next to him and over the side of the couch. He groaned miserably at the harsh treatment, lying on his back and staring at his shaking hands. Deep green fluid exuded from delicate veins in the leafy digits. The blood was an almost eerie shade, bordering on black.
"There. Problem solved," Negaduck replied as he slipped the blade effortlessly back into its sheath.
Elmo and Jack both snickered at the miserable hybrid, muttering quietly amongst themselves.
“Uhhhh, I would so flip you off right now if I had a middle finger,” Reggie mumbled from his place on the floor.
“Negs can fix that for you ya know,” Jack giggled, sending his companion off into another fit of sniggers.
Reggie growled in response, coiling his bleeding hands in his coat as he lifted himself into a sitting position. Yeah I can totally play now, he thought irately to himself.
“Ok plant face, quit your bitchin’ and wrap those up so we can get this over with and move on already,” Negaduck snapped, obviously unwilling to offer even an ounce of pity.
“See, everything is the bassist’s fault,” Jack stated happily.
“You’re redoing yours too chuckles,” Negaduck stated matter-of-factly as he finished isolating the problem areas.
The glee was quickly stripped from Jack’s face at the statement. “What?! Whyyyyy?” he whined.
“Oooh, you wanna know why Jack?” the mallard replied in a sarcastically kind tone.
He turned back to the areas he had been isolating, turning the entire band down but Jack’s rhythm. Through the sound of the guitar soft giggles could be heard.
Elmo snickered nasally at the quiet chuckles. “Heeh, you got in trouble,” he sang.
Jack could just see the snide look through the deeply tinted shades. “Well it’s your fault! You shouldn’t have been making faces,” he retorted huffily.
“YOU were the one making faces!”
“Well YOU provoked me!”
Negaduck growled as the childish spat continued, standing in a surprisingly calm manner to walk towards them. He grabbed roughly at Elmo’s hair, fisting his fingers in Jack’s hat at the same time as he smashed their heads forcefully together. He smirked amusedly as the two rubbed their now throbbing faces.
"Ok," the singer said clapping his hands together in a very satisfied manner. "Let’s take 5."
“Five minutes huh?” Jack said rubbing his chin in thought, his previous pain already forgotten. He turned to the rodent beside him, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “How bout a quicky love spark?”
Elmo blinked stupidly at the other’s waggling brows apparently dumbfounded. “Have we ever even done it that quick?” he finally asked.
Jack rolled his eyes in response, dragging his forgetful companion off the couch. “Oh Sparky, I have so much to teach you still… and re-teach you.
Reggie watched them go dumbfounded, grunting slightly as he lifted himself from the floor. Still bleeding hands twined tightly in his coat as he made his way to a nearby bathroom. He grumbled angrily to himself, trying to drown the pain in his fury. He didn’t even notice the pity-filled stare from behind him. As he entered the small room he forced himself to face his reflection; he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to the sight that faced him. He tried to ignore how terrible he looked. The dark rings below his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep, adding an unhealthy look to his already sloped and shivering demeanor. Reggie finally tore his gaze away from the pathetic picture before him to attend to his suffering fingers.
The miserable mutant held the quivering appendages forlornly under the cooling stream, watching as the soothing liquid melded with the sickly green stealing the dark blood away. As he watched the soiled water circle the drain, he couldn’t help but be reminded of a certain sopping mammal. He groaned miserably at the mental images the fluid produced. Damn dog.
He rummaged beneath the steel-embellished sink, searching desperately for something to contain the persistent flow of blood currently splattering on the tiled floor. Reggie grimaced slightly at the unsettling sound produced as the surprisingly thick fluid hit the ground. He really needed to find some bandages or something. Further inspection of the dark depths finally produced a large role of bandages and various adhesive strips.
It was no surprise that the leaves were difficult to wrap, their thin nature combined with the stiff pain still coursing through them making the task all but impossible. If it wasn’t for the fact that they were far thicker than actual leaves he wouldn’t have been able to cover them at all. The notion didn’t help much given his current issues. He cursed volatilely at the uncooperative cloth strips, trying desperately to make his newly acquired fingers to work well enough to assist him in wrapping the delicate leaves.
He practically jumped out of his green skin as the liquid form materialized beside him, the roll of gauze falling to the floor in his shock. “Gahh! Will you STOP doing that?!” he snapped at the annoyingly smug looking dog.
He didn’t wait for a reply before he returned his attention to the infuriating bandages. Reggie couldn’t help but feel stupid as he fumbled with the gauze. Bud sighed at the obviously painful attempts resisting the urge to chuckle at how adorable the other looked when he was flustered.
“Just let me help,” he finally said, a slightly annoyed edge to his voice. He was growing tired of watching the other struggle. Wet fingers grasped abruptly at Reggie’s tormented appendages, the fluid nature of his form softening the rough way in which he grabbed them. “You’re failing miserably, you know.”
Reggie tried to hold back the deep green tinge he knew was spreading across his face, focusing his gaze intently on the place where the other was wrapping his injured fingers in an attempt to keep the other from noticing. He was lucky that Bud was a bit too focused on other things to really pay attention.
Bud suddenly found himself unable to resist the urge to run his fingers along the injured leaves, his water seeping deeper into the bandages to cool the agony-stricken fingers. He hardly noticed the slight shiver that ran through his body at the contact. There was something oddly pleasurable in the touch. Something akin to a tingling heat that spread though his fingers as the water soaked into the other’s skin. Wet fingers slipped gently along the bandages in an attempt to prompt more of the feeling.
Reggie tried to tell himself that the liquid was not so extremely soothing. It took several moments for him to notice that he was staring at the place where the drummer was lightly stroking his hands. He yanked his leaves roughly away from the tender touch once he realized the hesitation.
His hands twisted together in a characteristic show of discomfort that he had been trying for years to eradicate from his mannerisms. His efforts had obviously fallen short. He cursed internally at how much more his fingers hurt without the contact to the infuriatingly helpful water. What the hell makes his water so damn different?
“Uhh, thanks… I guess,” he finally said, rubbing at the back of his neck nervously.
Reggie shifted back and forth self-consciously on his roots when Bud continued to stare at him. He couldn’t help but feel stupid that he was incapable of looking the canine in the eye.
Bud smiled softly in amusement as the dark green blush spread itself across Reggie’s face once again. He wasn’t even sure the other noticed but he was starting to grow quite fond of the color on him. “Well, we’d better be getting back,” Bud said softly, trying to rip himself out of yet another bassist-induced trance. “Negs is not known for his patience.”
Reggie watched him suspiciously as he left, unable to keep from wondering about his true motives. He shuddered slightly at the sudden barrage of unwanted thoughts that the notion produced. Somehow he was having a hard time convincing himself that this was just how Bud acted. He followed absently, eyes downcast as he followed the drummer’s wet trail.
He was ripped from the unsettling thoughts when he almost ran into the very dog causing them. His gripes were stopped before they even made it past his bill as he noticed the stares of the rest of the band currently gathered back in the recording area. Reggie was suddenly finding it hard to resist the urge to shrink further behind the watery figure in front of him. He could practically feel the fury behind the glare Negaduck was currently giving them.
“So nice of you both to grace us with your presence,” he growled lowly, the malice in his tone attesting to his obvious displeasure at being kept waiting. “WHAT, pray tell, did you two not understand about 5 MINUTES?!”
“Don’t bust a vessel boss. We were just fixing Reginald’s recent… modifications,” Bud said nonchalantly, making his way smoothly back to his seat.
Negaduck watched him make his way back to the hard sofa, eyes narrowed suspiciously. It wasn’t long before he turned his red eyes on the other source of his current displeasure. The stare made Reggie wince; he didn’t even bother to try and hide it.
“I don’t suppose YOU have anything to add, Reginald?” Negaduck growled.
“Uhh, I…” he rubbed at his thick hair, trying desperately to produce some kind of answer that wouldn’t put him even more on the spot.
“Just get in there and get me my fuckin’ track so we can move ON!”
Reggie nodded curtly, grabbing his bass from where he had propped it on the couch. He didn’t make it more than a few feet towards the recording room before he was suddenly pulled into a one-armed embrace by Jack.
“Come on Bushy boo! Let’s make beautiful music together,” the jester purred, mischievous grin spreading across his face at the mildly disgusted look Reggie gave him.
Reggie flinched at the contact of the feathered arm, struggling futilely as it tightened around his neck. He was more or less pulled the rest of the way into the confined recording room; Jack only releasing him once they had made it inside.
Negaduck’s leg shook impatiently as he waited for them to get situated. The second they both seemed prepared he switched on the speaker that allowed him to talk to them. “Ok,” he growled irately, “WOW me.”
The pressure required to force the strings to make a sound stung the leaves and caused them to exude more of the blackish blood, staining the shining guitar surface. Although it was easier to actually play the notes with individual fingers, in many ways it was far more difficult than it had been before. Reggie clenched his teeth against the pain, forcing his fingers to continue the torture. There was no point in stopping now. Jack seemed completely incapable of staying still throughout the course of the song. He was constantly jumping from foot to foot just to keep himself from drifting off. Reggie was just thankful he hadn't decided to occupy himself by putting him through more torture.
Through the glass separating the sound room from the rest of the recording area, Reggie could see the perturbed singer drumming his fingers against the sound board.
"You still suck Reginald!"
Reggie fumed at the comment. "Give me a fuckin’ break will ya! I can't seem to get these damn fingers to move properly."
He glanced down at the leafy digits in hopes that an examination would yield the problem. Blue eyes widened as he observed an unexpected addition to his current problems: the leaves were already starting to heal. Reggie’s jaw dropped at the strange sight presented as the green skin tried to grow around his bandages. The parts that had not been covered had already merged back together.
“Uhh…” he said softly, hesitating as he watched the unnatural healing, “They’re kinda … growing back together.”
Negaduck dropped his head onto the sound board, trying to keep himself from banging his forehead into it. “Look just FIX it or I WILL!” he growled, lifting his head so his red eyes could stare at Reggie.
The bassist shuddered at the thought as he looked back down at his fingers. He swallowed thickly as he started to pull at the spot where the two fingers were joining. His entire body trembled as he forced the healing leaves back apart, the unusual tissue inside painting a sickly picture of veins and strange muscle as it was exposed once again. Jack shuddered slightly as another wave of dark blood poured from the wound.
“Wow. That… is seriously disgusting,” he said, tongue protruding from his beak slightly in a display of repulsion.
Reggie sighed in relief as he finished separating the two once again, shifting the bandages so that they covered more of the digits. Negaduck pushed him to accomplish something, but the pain in his fingers and loss of blood were making his actions sluggish and inaccurate. Three futile tries and several tantrums later Negaduck was ready to give up.
“FINE!” he finally yelled, slamming his fists on the surface in front of him, “We’ll stop so Reggie can WHINE some more!” He pushed himself away from where he hand been sitting, practically stomping from the room.
Reggie couldn’t help but be stung by the mocking way in which he said it. It wasn’t like it was his fault that his fingers were currently pouring blood or healing at an impossible rate. An exasperated and overly dramatic sigh from Jack brought his attention to the still bouncy, impatient mallard next to him.
“Well that was a super fun waste of time,” Jack said, huffing obnoxiously as he slung his custom guitar over his shoulder and skipped lazily from the room.
The mad giggling that accompanied Jack out the door made Reggie shudder with displeasure. He was starting to feel the drain of yet another emotionally and physically trying day. All that sounded appealing to the exhausted mallard at the moment was curling up in his room and never coming out.
Reggie’s footing faltered slightly as he made his way from the recording room; he paused, placing his hand on the wall and using his guitar for support as he tried to stop the spinning in his head. The horrible feeling only seemed to spread as he stood still, trying to convince the shaking in his legs to stop. It took several painful moments for the sensation to pass. Reggie sighed heavily, putting a hand to his stomach to try and alleviate some of the agonizing stabs still coursing through his abdomen. He was really starting to question if his current vocation was really worth all the suffering. It took several moments for him to finally convince his feet to move, his bark-covered talons scraping against the ground as he did so.
Reggie was far too worn out to even notice the ever-watchful watery gaze that was focused on him. Bud sighed heavily as he watched the disoriented mallard trudge slowly towards the rooms. He couldn’t deny the extreme urge to follow him, but he ignored the desire, watching instead until the sluggish mutant was completely out of sight.
Even after Reggie was long gone, Bud couldn’t seem to stop staring after him. He sighed again, his watery dreads sagging in a strange external display of melancholy. Such deep thoughts always did spark his long buried depression. He suddenly found himself lacking the will to even keep his form. His water slipped with augmented slowness to the ground, allowing him to make his way to the solitude of his room as little more than a living, creeping puddle.
Bud spread himself lazily across the hard floor, his liquid frame sipping across the marble tiles in an almost lethargic manner. He sighed heavily, staring absently at the ceiling. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get a certain mutant mallard out of his head. He groaned, turning on his side and reaching out for a nearby bottle of alcohol that he had abandoned by his bed the night before. Moments before the bottle reached his muzzled Bud was stopped by his thoughts yet again. He sighed heavily, letting the glass container fall from his hands onto the floor. For the first time in a long time he knew drinking would just make his mood worse. Bud didn’t even notice when the liquor pouring from the now tipped bottle started to seep into his water, only the distant, fuzzy sensation of the alcohol melding with his form gave any warning that the fluid was present at all.
It was hours before the uncharacteristically sullen water dog finally moved, roused only when a quiet sound split the heavy silence around him. He jumped slightly as the soft, and notably timid, knock sounded at his closed door. Bud cocked an eye at the black, poster-covered entry, undeniably curious as to who would be knocking at his door at 5 am. Couldn’t be Jack or Negaduck, they never knocked, and the only reason Elmo usually showed up was because he forgot where his own room was. Deep down, he already knew who it was.
Bud opened the door almost hesitantly, shuddering slightly at the obnoxious creak let out by its slightly rusted hinges—metal never did fare well around him. He was hardly surprised to find Reggie on the other side of the heavy door.
The exhaustion was plain on the mallard’s face; the dark circles under his eyes were growing and his whole frame was slumped more than usual. Through the darkness shrouding the corridor Bud could just see Reggie’s shaking hands. He winced internally at the blood-saturated bandages; he couldn’t help but notice that the wounds seemed even worse than earlier: A sign that he had been spending the last few hours trying to keep them from healing. Even after the door was fully open Reggie didn’t look him in the eye. There was a painfully obvious amount of discomfort in his demeanor. His downcast stare and wringing hands were only the most obvious of signs. Bud opened his mouth, about to say something before he was cut off by Reggie.
“I need your help.” The statement was brief and concise, laced with a poorly hidden urgency.
Bud blinked at the shifting bassist, flowing his arm behind him to close the door as he left. Reggie didn’t say anything; he just turned away from the dripping dog pulling his coat around him for comfort. Bud watched him go for a moment as he led the way down the dimly lit hall. What the hell am I in for this time?
He followed Reggie out to the main hall— the Devil Room as it was more affectionately known— watching as he sat down in front of the substantial fire burning in the massive hearth. Bud simply watched him for a moment, slipping silently into the large couch just in front of the fireplace.
“The fire’s the only way I can think of to fix it,” Reggie finally said into the silence.
“Fix what?” Bud asked softly.
The glow from the fire spread a soft light across Reggie’s face as he turned his head over his shoulder so he could see the drummer. “My hands,” he whispered, lifting the bandaged appendages into the firelight, “I burned one with my cigarette hours ago it hasn’t healed.”
He dropped his hands back into his lap, staring dejectedly at the wounded digits. After a moment he stared back into the flames before him once again, hiding his face from the dog.
Bud’s expression fell as he watched the other. It wasn’t hard to discern Reggie’s plan. He slipped gracefully from the couch flowing gently to join the other by the fireside. His water crept up next to Reggie flowing mesmerizingly into the air as Bud reformed himself. From his new position he could once again see the plant-duck’s face. He was difficult to read as usual when he got like that, hiding behind his emotionless guise. He didn’t react to the other’s presence outside of producing another cigarette which he lit by pulling one of the small sticks from the hearth.
Bud regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, glancing momentarily at the fire. “What do you want me to do?” he asked softly as he brought his gaze back to the mallard.
Reggie took a deep drag from his cigarette, letting it out slowly as he prepared himself for his answer. “Just go find me a large knife. I’m sure there’s one nearby,” he replied finally, never looking away from the flames before him.
Bud nodded curtly before allowing his form to disintegrate once again so that he could flow quickly along the ground in search of his query. As Reggie had noted, the search didn’t take long. Negaduck always had a collection of knives littering the house. He only carried those he favored with him at all times.
He returned quickly to the far end of the room where Reggie was currently removing the wrappings slowly from his injured leaves. The aggravated wounds were a sickly black color, encrusted with dried blood from the constant attempts to keep them separated. “Give me the knife,” he said holding one of his stained hands out to the dog as the other flicked his already expended smoke into the fire.
Bud held the knife out to the other handle first, gripping the blade tightly as Reggie tried to pull it away in order to gain his attention. Reggie shifted his eyes slowly, forcing them to look at Bud. The dark pools of the other’s eyes stared at him harshly, strong questions behind his look.
“You sure about this?” he asked seriously.
“No. But if you think I’m slicing my hands open one more goddamn time you’re insane,” Reggie replied, equally serious.
Bud only hesitated a moment before relinquishing the large blade to the bassist. Reggie shoved the knife deep into the extensive supply of red hot coals within the metal confines of the fireplace. He leaned back against the hard table behind them, new cigarette already smoking, waiting for the weapon to heat. The dog beside him crossed his liquid legs, sitting back to watch as the other smoked. Reggie was starting to grow irritated at the constant scrutinizing.
He shifted nervously under the gaze, quickly growing unable to ignore the other. Reggie never did like being stared at.
“What?!” he finally snapped, wrapping his arms around himself in a grasp for comfort.
Several long moments without a response finally coaxed Reggie into looking enough over his shoulder so that he could see the drummer beside him. Even through the dark Reggie could see the sympathy in Bud’s stare, but that was hardly what was so irresistible about seeing the other in the firelight. The pale orange light reflected off the sparkling liquid of his form, dancing across the constantly flowing water in an unusually stunning display. Reggie could spend a century with the canine and probably understand only a minute portion of the man concealed beneath that churning surface.
Reggie swallowed thickly as he turned his gaze back towards the fire, all thoughts of producing an answer from the drummer long gone. Timid fingers reached into the hearth, pulling gently at the large knife still nestled in the coals. The gentle red glow that was now painted upon the blade’s surface was almost mesmeric. Reggie tried his best to ignore the thoughts of what came next.
He didn’t even notice when Bud slipped silently closer, flowing gracefully forward to sit beside him. Reggie was only mildly aware of his presence. His face was glazed over in an emotionless guise, hypnotized by the glowing knife in his hand. The strange spell continued until the cooling sensation of Bud’s hands slipped over his, stealing the blade away with a surprising amount of tenderness.
Reggie finally snapped out of his stupor, yanking his hand away from the liquid appendage that still lingered on it. Bud paid the action little mind. He glanced down briefly at the blade now clenched in his hand before returning his gaze to meet Reggie’s face. The other still wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“How do you want me to do this?” Bud questioned gently, his voice barely a whisper in the massive room.
Reggie swallowed around the dry feeling in his throat, finally forcing himself to meet Bud’s questioning stare. “Just… just press them both against it at the same time. I am NOT doing this more than twice!” Reggie replied, his voice faltering at the thought of allowing the other to burn his already throbbing hands.
Bud nodded gently. Stroking his dripping fingers softly along the delicate leaves; for the first time, Reggie didn’t resist the touch. Bud held the leaves on both sides so that he could press them together. He paused just before forcing the trembling fingers to contact the hot metal, bringing his focus to the gently shivering bassist.
The pain was indescribable. Mere moments after the searing blade had contacted the already wounded fingers; Reggie yanked his hand from the cool grip of the other. He was completely unaware of what was going on around him as he pulled away from the source of his anguish. His own screams went unheard by him as he withered in pain, trapped in his own painful reality. As the agony finally began to let go, he registered Bud’s face above him and the muffled sounds of his voice. Reggie couldn’t tell what he was saying. He shook his head harshly at the other, trying weakly to push him away.
Bud grabbed him roughly, forcing the thrashing duck’s back against his chest so that he could hold him against his cool water. Reggie panted coarsely; head craned upward and teeth clenched in pain. As the mallard’s jolting body began to quiet its movements, the drummer behind him shifted one of his arms to grip him tightly in case he moved again as the other formed beneath the tormented leaf that the other was clutching to his chest. Reggie didn’t resist as the throbbing appendage was pulled into the cooling waters of the others digits.
His bill parted in relief as the soothing effect of the water sunk in. A shaky sigh slipped quietly from his beak as he pulled his head from its resting place on Bud’s shoulder. His gaze focused blurrily on the place where the other was pushing gentle streams along his quivering hand. He groaned miserably, lifting himself from the drummer’s form. He moved on shaking legs, ignoring the question from the band member behind him as he shoved the still warm knife back into the fire.
“Just do the other one before I lose my fucking nerve,” he said through chattering teeth, staring at him with weary eyes.
Bud took pity on the despondent duck, pulling him wordlessly back into his grip to keep him from jumping across the room this time around. Reggie remained quiet, ignoring the other as he yanked the knife from the coals and pressed it quickly between the fingers on his other hand. He couldn’t stop the screams that inevitably came at the contact. Wooded heels scraped desperately against the ground as he tried to move away from pain he couldn’t escape. The blade fell to the floor with a clatter as Bud gripped both the bassist’s hands as best he could in attempt to keep the other under control.
Reggie sunk his teeth into his bottom bill, muffling his cries to a mere echo of what they were. He continued to fight weakly against the liquid arms surrounding him. Small droplets of concentrated water slipped through the tightly clenched corners of his eyes, painting wet trails down his heated cheeks. Bud’s chest grew heavy at the sight: he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the suffering duck.
He held the other tightly until the thrashing stopped and blue eyes began to droop with exhaustion. Reggie’s entire body was suddenly limp in his arms, drained of every ounce of energy he’d spent trying to fight off the pain. Bud grasped him in his arms as gently as he could; taking care to keep Reggie’s shaking fingers submerged in his water as he lifted him off the floor. He could barely tell if Reggie was still awake, his long bangs obscuring his face.
Either way Bud knew he wouldn’t be conscious long. He wasted little time in returning Reggie to the safety of his room. Although he didn’t say it, Reggie was grateful for the swiftness. A soft, shaky groan passed his bill as Bud sat him in the large bed, helping him remove his coat before he laid himself gingerly onto the mattress. He was barely conscious of what the other was doing around him, but he didn’t resist when Bud started wrapping his still shaking fingers back in bandages.
“You uh… need anything?” Bud asked once he had finished— the sudden discomfort quite apparent in his voice. He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously when Reggie didn’t answer right away.
Reggie’s nod was very brief and barely visible. “Cigarette,” he said, his horse voice barely above a whisper.
Bud’s mouth twitched into a slight smile at the single word. It was somehow comforting that Reggie was not in so much pain that he could ignore his need for nicotine. Bud slipped his hand into the long coat’s pocket, quickly fishing out the pack and lighter. He shook the box to allow one of the cigarettes to protrude far enough that the other had access to it. He had to remind himself that grabbing one out for the bassist would only ruin the smoke. Reggie took the cigarette with trembling fingers, placing it in his bill and allowing the other to light it for him.
Reggie gazed distantly across the room, content to sit in the mutual silence; it was obvious that he was pretty out of it. Bud just sat there for several long moments as the disoriented mallard smoked. As the cancerous stick started to come to the end of its life, it quickly became apparent that Reggie was having a hard time remaining conscious. Bud stared at the other in contemplation for a moment, his look of lament painfully obvious to anyone who would care to try and see it. He sighed softly as he slipped from the chair, making his way towards the door.
“Bud.”
The quiet voice prompted his attention back to the groggy bassist, staring into the other’s exhausted eyes through the darkness. He slid slowly closer to the bed, his nonexistent heart pounding in his chest. “Yeah Reg?”
Reggie just stared for a moment, the cigarette threatening to fall from his beak as he gazed at the dripping dog. He could hardly concentrate through his own hazy thoughts but he owed the other something at least. “Thanks,” he finally said eyes already slipping closed as he slid into unconsciousness. Despite his exhaustion, the sincerity in the statement was not lost on Bud.
A small, cockeyed smile painted his face as he moved closer to the nearly sleeping bassist in order to catch the still burning cigarette before it fell to Reggie’s bare chest. His water quickly soaked into the thin paper, extinguishing the burning end with a soft sizzle. The helpful action was lost on Reggie; his mind already captured by the oblivion of sleep.
Reggie’s unconscious state allowed for the first real chance Bud had had to observe him since his transformation. The lavender strands looked irresistibly soft. He couldn’t resist the sudden need to touch it. Wet fingers shifted through the soft, purple mass, the contact sending an odd sensation through his liquid frame. Bud doubted that he would ever get tired of the strange tingling that was produced when his water contacted the plant-like skin. He almost smiled at the way Reggie shifted into the gentle touch. It was a strange treat to see the other with his guard down. No masks or false feelings, just Reggie. Perhaps he wasn’t so hard to read after all.
“Any time Reginald. Any time.”
- 4
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Screw the Bassist