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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Note: Wow, what to even say about this chapter… Well, I probably put waay too much work into it. Quite honestly I could take out most of this one and the plot wouldn’t suffer at all. So sorry if it bores you. But hey, they’re my boys. If I wanna babble on about them then I will! Muwahahaha!
I have NEVER had as many issues with a chapter as I did with this one so you’d better love me for it anyway. Enjoy my lovelies.

Bud hated being bored.
He had been slipping absently through the manor’s corridors for hours now and he was starting to go stir crazy. After the annoyingly unproductive previous day, Negaduck had demanded quiet the next morning. It was never a good idea to get on his bad side on a day like that. Jack and Elmo were currently occupied with a video game, which was never somewhere he wanted to be when Jack was involved, and Reggie had been banished to his room until he knew at least the first half of their new album by heart.
The dripping drummer was currently faced with an annoying lack of things to do.
His aimless wandering eventually brought him past the band member rooms. The dim light in the hall was oddly soothing. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t even realize where he was until the soft sound of music filtered towards him. It wasn’t a surprise once he noted where he had roamed to, but when Bud passed by the room that housed the bassist, what he heard was not a familiar tune.
Bud tilted his head curiously as he moved closer to the intriguing music. Through the slightly open door Bud could hear the soft sounds of Reggie's bass accompanied by a far more stunning and unexpected melody. It was faint, but through the deep tones of the guitar’s strings he could hear the gentle sound of Reggie singing. The quiet baritone was somehow incredibly enchanting, and accompanied by the low music of the bass it was an impressively captivating sound. Bud slipped his head through the opening, observing the other silently. The gentle morning light forcing its way into the room was a stark contradiction to the dimly lit hall, illuminating the chamber’s resident in a delicately beautiful manner. From his position by the door, it was quite apparent to the dripping drummer that Reggie was currently in his own world. Reggie was reclined lazily on the bed in an uncharacteristically relaxed fashion, smoldering cigarette hanging from his bill as he sang causing his smoke to dance entrancingly through the hazy rays of sunlight. Bud couldn’t help but be somewhat impressed at how he managed to sing around the stick, taking drags every now and then. In front of him, a collection of music was spread out, the sheets littering the large bed and adding a cluttered feel to the surroundings.
Bud watched as new and still bandaged fingers slipped expertly across the heavy strings. He was undeniably amazed at the unique ways in which Reggie was using his thumbs to help compensate for being down a few fingers. It made his movements fascinating to watch. The captivated canine couldn’t help but lean his body against the door frame, just watching as Reggie lost himself in his own music. The brief audition and painful modifications had kept them from really realizing the extent of the mallard’s talent, but Bud was quickly realizing that Reggie was a lot better than any of them had probably realized.
Bud couldn’t deny that he was disappointed when the song started to trail off, evidence that the self-conscious duck had finally realized that he was being watched. A blue eye angled to the side through purple bangs, affirming the mallard’s suspicion that he was being observed. Bud was unable to control the toothy smile that crept across his face as the other focused his attention fully on him.
Reggie cocked a brow at the grin. “Yes Buddy?” he shot the drummer a confused look when the name caused the watery grin to extend.
“Hmm nothin’,” Bud replied lazily, “Just bored.” His body slipped fluidly from its position by the door as he moved further into the sun-saturated room. “You really have quite a voice there ya know.”
Reggie didn’t reply. His eyes sank in a self-conscious manner, shifting to the side and away from the watery canine. It was suddenly obvious that Reggie was considerably apprehensive around him at the moment. Bud hadn’t considered how uncomfortable it would make his band mate to be so vulnerable in front of him as he had the night before.
He looked exhausted.
The silence stretched on as the insecure mallard resisted replying. Injured fingers danced slowly across the strings once again as Reggie tried to distract himself from the discomfort.
The action caught Bud’s attention, prompting him to inquire about the recent modifications. “How those fingers treating ya?” he questioned, trying to keep the extent of his concern from his voice.
Reggie lifted a hand examining the bandaged fingers. “They hurt like a bitch,” he paused to pull the cigarette from his mouth, nestling the stick between his two newly acquired digits. “But they make smoking a hell of a lot easier.”
Bud chortled at the observation. “Funny you don’t strike me as a look on the bright side kinda person.”
“Cigarettes are my bright side,” Reggie muttered in reply, a slight scowl settling on his face.
Bud tilted his head at the comment, his dripping ears and locks slipping to the side in a way that made Reggie feel oddly warm. There was something undeniably adorable in the action, something very much like a puppy tilting its head at a beloved owner. It made the bassist shift his eyes away again. He was too tired to deal with the inquisitive drummer at the moment.
That hardly deterred Bud from his sudden need to be in the other’s presence. He was just bored. Or so he told himself. “Reggie,” he said softly.
The mutant finally lifted his head to look at him fully once again. Bud cocked a watery brow at the sudden, wide-eyed expression that panted on the other’s face. He shifted his gaze behind him to try and see what caused the abrupt change in behavior. He jumped slightly at the unexpected sight of the short mallard, recoiling somewhat at the harsh red eyes that were now focused menacingly on him. Reggie shrank back subconsciously at the other’s entrance; he could swear just the sight of the singer made his fingers throb with the memories he elicited.
“Uh… what’s up boss?” Bud finally said awkwardly.
“You,” he growled, grabbing the drummer roughly by the collar and dragging him down to his level. “Come with me. You!” he continued, turning his narrowed gaze to the bassist, “Keep playing till your fucking fingers fall off.” With a final snarl he dragged Bud from the room, black collar clenched between his shaking fist.
Reggie didn’t quite know how to react to the scene he had just witnessed. He crept somewhat hesitantly to the door, pushing it open cautiously to peer down the dim hall. He sighed quietly in relief when he didn’t see the others. Still sore fingers trembled slightly as he pushed the door open again. A strong feeling of entrapment had been nagging at him that entire morning and he wasn’t sure he could handle the further sense of claustrophobia that the closed entrance caused. Even the tall balcony doors across the room were already wide open in an attempt to offer some relief from the unsettling feeling that had been growing in his chest. The hot breeze, humid and hazy with tainted air, did little to help his already ailing lungs, but he couldn’t deny that he needed the small sense of freedom.
As the hours wore on his fingers began to burn from the continued abuse and the notes before him began to blur as his vision fatigued. He seriously needed to find something he was capable of eating otherwise he doubted he would be able to remain conscious. Finally he couldn’t stand the confined space anymore. Negaduck orders or not he needed out. He slung his bass over his back, stretching his neck outside the door before slipping from the room.
He couldn’t seem to stop his eyes from roaming nervously back and forth as he slunk down the hallway, blue eyes searching tensely for any possible danger. He half expected to see glowing red eyes staring him down after every turn. A strange sense of relief flooded over him as the dim passage gave way to the devil room; he tried desperately to ignore the disconcerting feeling that the room’s large statue still provoked. Lucky for him the room’s two residents provided more than ample distraction from the eerie figure.
“Gahhhh! That. Is. IT!” Jack yelled furiously, game controller shaking between his fists. “I quit! I quit, I quit, I QUIT! This game is no fun, AND it cheats!”
Elmo squealed in terror as the furious jester made to chuck the white controller at the massive flat-screen before them, launching himself at the mallard to rescue the two electrical devices before they suffered an unfortunate meeting. Jack growled in testament to his displeasure at his recent cybernetic defeat, his fists clenching and shaking slightly in his anger as he fumed at the big-screen.
“Jaaack you said you’d be good to me today,” Elmo whined pitifully, a strangely fatigued and desperate edge to his voice.
“Fuck this! I don’t care if you feel icky today Mo you can just play with your own damn self!” the volatile mallard yelled, stomping dramatically from the room, fists still clenched and back hunched in his childish fury.
“Awww you never wanna do what I wanna do,” Elmo pouted softly as his angered companion left, sinking further into the couch cushions as he slumped miserably.
The depressed expression made it very hard for Reggie not to feel bad for the rodent; He looked awful. His slender frame periodically shook with harsh shudders and despite the dark glasses shielding his eyes from sight it was hard to ignore the fact that they looked sunken in and tired. It was as though his whole body was being racked by an invisible torment. The rodent’s entire demeanor was a strange echo of Reggie’s own making the bassist abnormally empathetic.
It took a few moments but the despairing rat finally caught sight of Reggie through the corner of his eye. A grin suddenly lit his features. “Heeeey, Reggie!” he cried happily, jumping swiftly and unexpectedly from his spot before the TV and running over to the shocked mallard still standing by the stairs. “You have fingers now!”
“Uhh, yeah. You remembered... I’m impressed.”
“Will you play with me?”
Reggie blinked in slight disbelief at the question, more taken aback by the happy, childish way in which the guitarist said it than the request itself. He opened his mouth to decline, but somehow the pleading, hopeful look that Elmo conjured made it impossible for him to say no and add to the other’s misery. Even if he probably would forget it minutes later. “Yeah, alright… But just one game.”
It didn’t take long for one game to turn into hours of being glued to the screen. Elmo was a crazy gamer but Reggie found it surprisingly entertaining to watch the rodent kick his virtual ass so expertly.
There were two things that he had learned about the rodent over the past few hours: he was markedly less obnoxious without his cackling, insufferable companion around, and he actually liked to smoke. Reggie wasn’t sure why, but there was something comforting about having a fellow smoker around. He was starting to realize that he didn’t mind the voltage junkie too much, although the rodent’s choice in conversation definitely left something to be desired.
“So here I think I’m doing it with some fine electrical lady and it turns out I’m just fuckin’ the toaster!” The rodent finally paused his mindless babbling to take a long hit from his smoke, playing one-handed for a moment as he slouched further into the couch cushions. “True story, didn’t piss right for a month.” Elmo’s eyes narrowed in testament to his annoyance at the memory.
Reggie cocked a slightly disturbed brow at the rodent. Despite the briefness of the look, it was a sufficient distraction for Elmo to put a swift end to his electronic counterpart currently fighting within the TV’s confines. Slightly annoyed eyes narrowed at the now dead character as Reggie threw his controller lightly to the side in favor of lighting a fresh cigarette.
Elmo laughed ecstatically as their latest round came to an end, cancerous fumes billowing from his nose as he snickered. “Fuck this is awesome! No one ever plays with me for this long!” He paused his sniggers to look at the smoking mallard beside him. “You’re actually pretty good at this. You won five whole times!” He said it as though it was the most amazing thing ever.
Reggie shrugged flicking his cigarette against one of the many ashtrays that had been placed around the house since his transformation. “I might have been a video game tester briefly.”
“Video game tester… how the hell’d you end up doing that?”
“I stole someone’s identity and kinda got sucked into the part too much… it did not end well.”
“Hmmm…. What’d you steal?”
Reggie shook his head at the rodent, his blank face hiding his slight amusement. “One more round Mo.”
“Yaaaay! I am SO gonna kick your ass!”
“Oh I see. I spend the whole day in miserable torment waiting for you and you’re out here talking about other guy’s asses,” an overly dramatic and pouty voice sounded from behind them.
Elmo tilted his head back to rest against the couch as he look up at the sulking mallard above him. “Heeey, hiya Jacky!” he said grinning stupidly.
“Don’t you hiya Jacky me! When I storm off you’re supposed to console me not sit around being gay with Reggie! And you’re smoking!” he yelled snatching the smoldering stick from his friend’s muzzle.
“Why the hell can’t I smoke anyway?” Elmo whined in reply, watching in mild disappointment as the mallard forcefully put out his cigarette.
“Cause you have an addictive personality! And I refuse to have you and your cancer ruining my complexion all day long.”
Elmo whined pitifully; he was in no condition to handle his friend’s dramatic tendencies at the moment. “Jaaaack, I don’t even remember what the hell you’re talking about!”
The still slightly fuming mallard sighed obnoxiously in response. “I can never stay mad at you when you’re like this,” he paused to wrap his arms around the other’s neck, stroking his bare chest playfully. “It’s not fair.”
Reggie cocked a brow at the pair as the conversation slipped into whispered, comforting talk. From what he could hear of what they were saying he was pretty sure he knew what was ailing the slender rodent. Not that he was about to say anything. He had to admit that he was happy when the resident drummer chose that moment to join them. The increasingly intimate display was starting to make him feel very uncomfortable.
The shifting crystal blue at the corner of his eye was all that alerted him to the drummer’s presence; he was happy to even have that. Usually he never knew where or when the sly dog would show up. He immediately noted the weighted manner in which Bud was carrying himself. The slouching drummer looked strangely exhausted, his shoulders slumped and dreadlocks sagging as though weighed down by his suddenly depressed mood. Reggie stared curiously at the odd way in which his form seemed to be shuddering, a strange, trembling wave running through his entire body; if he didn’t know better he would have thought the watery canine was in pain. It looked like it was turning out to be a pretty miserable day for all of them.
He was not alone. Just behind him, fists clenched and obviously fuming, was Negaduck. There was a collective feeling of tension amongst the room’s occupants. They all knew they were in for another angry speech.
He stormed swiftly to the front of the room, staring them down furiously. “Everybody SIT DOWN! NOW!”
For once Jack just did as he was told, not even bothering to move around the couch to oblige. He pressed his palms on the back of the cushions to jump over the back of the dark furniture; it made for a far quicker compliance anyway. Elmo almost immediately pressed his cheek gently to the mallard’s shoulder as he settled beside him. He needed the slight sense of comfort.
The despondent drummer that had been standing inconspicuously to the side slipped as quickly and obediently as possible to sit next to Reggie on the couch. The bassist shifted over to make more room as he saw the other coming. Questioning eyes fixed on the dripping canine. For once it was Bud’s turn to avoid his gaze. He didn’t even want to try and explain his current discomfort to the bassist. He pulled at the collar encircling his neck suddenly very tired of its presence. Reggie couldn’t help but be curious at the action.
“Alright assholes listen up and listen good. I’ve been going over shit and there’s gonna be some changes around here. FIRST of all, I’m tired of you all dicking around! We have very little time to get this done and as of now all of your parts have been revised.”
The statement immediately elicited a collective groan from Reggie’s band mates.
“SHUT UP!” Negaduck snapped harshly in reply. “Now all you whiny bitches listen to me and listen closely,” the last word was growled, spoken harshly and backed by a serious tone. “You have all got a LOT of new shit to learn and YOU still don’t know half the parts that have NOT been changed!” Negaduck finished at a yell, pointing an accusing angry finger at Reggie. “We have four months. FOUR MONTHS to get this damn thing finished! So we are on LOCKDOWN until further notice! No one leaves, no sneaking visitors in, and no FUCKING around! You will live and breathe metal until this is PERFECT!”
Although the rant continued, no one was quite willing to pay attention. None of them were happy to hear they had new stuff to learn and they were all quite engrossed with brewing over the news. Reggie was the only one who didn’t seem to notice much. Considering he barely knew his parts as it was, little had changed for him. He was currently more concerned about the state of his own person. He was scarcely even aware of what was going on around him and the longer the speech stretched on the worse he fared. The hazy feeling that had been growing in his head since he woke was getting worse, and he was starting to have a hard time fighting it. With a nearly inaudible groan, he finally lost the battle with unconsciousness.
The abrasive bang produced as he hit the table in front of them caused the shuddering rodent beside him to jump harshly in shock. He cocked a curious brow at the unexpectedly unconscious mutant. “Uhhh… I think we just lost Reggie.”
Negaduck’s eye twitched erratically at the continued delay in his plans. “I hate bassists.”
The fact that it was Bud that chose to aid the exhausted mallard only served to worsen his mood. He shot the dripping drummer a harsh glare as he moved to try and help the other. Bud swallowed thickly in response, retracting the arms that had extended to help his fellow mutant. His aid was not as necessary as he had expected anyway. The collision with the short table had been sufficient to wake the bassist from his disoriented state and he was already lifting himself back up. Reggie groaned, rubbing leafy fingers along his forehead as he tried to pull his exhausted body back into the conscious world.
“SO nice of you to join us again Reggie,” Negaduck growled.
“Holy shit I need food,” Reggie muttered, almost unaware that he was even talking to the singer.
“FOOOD! I SO vote for food,” Jack cried, bouncing slightly on the couch and lifting his hand in the air as if it had actually been a vote. “Don’t know what the hell you’re gonna feed Reggie though. We ain’t got any plant food here,” he finished, snorting quietly at the slight pun.
“Can’t we just… feed him dirt or somethin’?” Elmo offered.
Negaduck blinked irately at him in response. “THAT is… the smartest dumb thing you’ve ever said,” the singer finished, his anger quieted somewhat at the surprising display of mental faculties for the rodent.
“Gee, thanks,” Elmo muttered in reply.
“Alright fine, you are allowed to feed your filthy faces, but after that learn your fuckin’ parts! And then we are gonna do a take!”
This time Reggie joined the collective groan. Negaduck’s temple throbbed at the sound. His eye twitched as he rubbed at the throbbing vein in his head. “You know what? FUCK it! I am so done with you assholes. Enjoy your fucking day off! BUT LEARN YOUR PARTS!”
“What about the bassist? How we supposed to feed him?” Jack called at the retreating singer. “Not exactly a lot of plant dirt in this place.”
“Let the fucking servants take care of it!”
Jack huffed slightly at the response, crossing his arms over his chest and flopping back against the couch cushions. “Great, now we gotta track down a fucking servant.” He jumped from the plush sofa, reaching backwards blindly to grip at the cords hanging from his fellow guitarist’s slim torso. “But in the meantime I’m hungry! And you are gonna eat too!” he snapped at the still shuddering Elmo as he pulled him to his feet by the black wires.
Elmo simply groaned in response as he was dragged away.
“Mm… I sure could use a drink,” Bud finally spoke, concurring with the idea to move to the kitchen.
Reggie barely noticed as the watery canine slipped after the others. He groaned when they had all left, putting a bandaged hand around his midsection. He wasn’t too fond of the idea of eating dirt but he sure hoped they found it quick because he had never been so hungry in his life and he was pretty much willing to try anything. With a final groan he finally lifted his lightly shaking body from the couch.
He followed slowly, dragging his feet and rubbing his stomach as he went. The brightness of the kitchen lights made him squint slightly from the drastic change. Through the large windows he could see that the sun outside had already started to set; he hadn’t realized how late it was.
Bud was rifling through the many cupboards, collecting various bottle of booze and placing them together on the counter. From the looks of things he intended to spend his day off getting smashed. Jack had apparently tracked down one of the many underlings and was now barking ridiculously specific instructions for his food at him from his place at the table. Beside him his suffering companion was sitting with his elbows propped on the table and forehead resting in his hands. He was currently staring at all the revised music that had apparently been brought to them. The shudders still tormenting the rodent seemed to grow worse at the sight of the many sheets of changed notes. Whatever was wrong with him, it seemed to be getting worse.
Reggie finally moved further into the room, dropping his body uncouthly into the chair beside the oblivious rodent. Elmo paid him essentially no notice. The same could not be said for his boisterous companion. Jack’s face lit up, impish grin spreading across his large bill as he noticed the other’s presence. It was the first time that Reggie had really sat at the table with them and it was an undeniable source of delight for Jack.
He surely would have found some annoying way to lighten his mood if Elmo hadn’t chosen that moment to have a breakdown. “ALL our songs have changed!” he suddenly yelled, gripping at his hair with both hands, the pace of his breathing starting to increase, “I’m never gonna learn all that shit in four months! Negs is gonna get all pissed and then I’m gonna get all fucked up!”
“Mo, MO!” Jack responded, grabbing the freaked out rodent by the shoulders and shaking him slightly, “Get ahold of yourself babes. I’ll help you learn it.”
Elmo dropped his head back whining dramatically. “I don’t waaaanna!” After a moment of pathetic moaning, he sighed heavily, focusing his gaze back on his friend. “I need my guitar Jacky.”
Jack snorted slightly at the drastic change in tone between the two sentences. “Yeah alright. YOU! Jerk who is not cooking me food, go get Mo’s guitar.”
Bud finally decided to join them as the second servant shuffled obediently from the room. He placed a ridiculous armful of different alcoholic beverages on the table as he sat, opening one immediately and taking a long drink from it. Reggie cocked a brow at the chugging drummer. The other two guitarists didn’t seem to even notice. They were quite accustomed to the amount of alcohol Bud drank when he got in moods like that. Reggie shook his head slightly at the drinking canine, shifting quietly to rest his chin on the table so that he could clutch his suffering torso without the others noticing. One of them noticed.
It wasn’t long before the servant that had been sent to retrieve Elmo’s guitar from where he had left it in the other room. Elmo hugged the instrument briefly as it was handed to him, comforted somewhat by the presence of the beloved electrical item. He immediately began to pluck at the strings, sinking down in his chair with a sigh. The other servant began to set different plates of food before the two guitarists. In front of the excited jester and his companion they placed one thing in particular that Reggie would have preferred not to see. Sitting on shining silver plates were several outrageously-sized portions of mashed potatoes.
“Yay! Comfort fooood!” Jack practically sang, clapping his hands childishly at the mass of lumpy starch that had been placed before him.
Elmo merely sniffed his own portion distastefully, making a small noise of disgust and sticking his tongue out in response to the food. Neither of them noticed the sudden look of repulsion that had painted itself all over a certain mutant mallard’s face. Elmo shoved his plate in front of the currently wide-eyed bassist absently before returning his attention to his continuous string plucking. Reggie wasn’t sure whether it was a silent offering or just an absentminded dismissal of the food but either way the response it elicited was almost immediate.
His chair legs scrapped harshly against the ground as he jolted from the seat, standing and backing urgently away from the food. The obnoxious noise had been sufficient to gain him the attention of the entire table and when he finally managed to tare his attention away from the unwanted distress the potatoes represented he realized how stupid he must have looked. He finally convinced himself to look up at his gaping band mates. It was impossible to miss the blatantly amused expression behind Jack’s look.
“Leeaving us so soon Reginald?” he queried, wiggling his brows obnoxiously at him.
“Oh there has GOT to be an interesting story behind that one,” Bud noted, amused smirk slipping across his face for the first time since his little meeting with Negaduck.
“Well there isn’t,” Reggie replied huffily, crossing his arms over his chest. His stance did little to aid his claim.
“Riiiight,” Jack interjected.
“Look, I just… don’t like potatoes,” Reggie said lamely.
“I’ll say, damn,” Jack cackled. He shoved a finger into the mount of starch in front of him, swirling the digit to collect some of the mass. “You sure you don’t want some spud stud?” he questioned sensually, licking his long tongue up the finger to lap the potato away.
Reggie shuddered disgustedly at the sight, turning from the table and making his way to the balcony, body still shivering in repulsion as he went; he wasn’t sure what made him more nauseous, the potatoes or the mallard still lapping at them. It was hard to ignore the insane cackles that followed him. He suddenly needed a smoke very desperately.
In fact he had five smokes, one right after another without even really thinking about it. He needed the solitude. He’d been trying to keep it hidden, but his fingers were really starting to hurt. His resolve finally broke without the threat of anyone seeing him. Soft groans of misery sounded into the night as Reggie flicked his latest cigarette over the balcony edge, getting rid of the stick so that he could hold his shaking hands to his chest as the pain spread. He curled the fingers together, quivering digits held tightly against each other in an attempt to ease the agony.
It didn’t.
From behind him a certain drummer watched silently. It was fairly hard to tell from his position what exactly the bassist was doing, but his soft groans were enough to tell Bud that he was certainly in pain. He looked forlornly at the shivering mallard. Despite the risk of incurring Negaduck’s wrath yet again, he had to do something to help.
His water shimmered in the waning light as he slipped silently towards the despairing mallard. The other didn’t even notice the sopping form until Bud was practically right beside him. The abrupt and unexpected appearance provoked the usual response.
Reggie clutched at his chest, growling softly and glaring. He didn’t even have to say anything that time to tell the fluid dog what he was thinking.
“I’m sorry,” Bud chuckled, “I’m not trying to sneak up on you.”
“Yeah well can you not try harder, you’re driving me nuts,” Reggie muttered through clenched teeth. It was hard to ignore the way he was still twining his fingers together in pain.
Bud’s face fell at the sight of the shaking digits. “You know I could—” He didn’t even have the chance to continue before the bassist shot him a warning glare. Bud’s locks drooped miserably at the abrupt and silent dismissal. He knew Reggie just didn’t want to feel weak but he couldn’t help but feel rejected at the action. “You know it makes them feel better,” he finally finished, his soft voice barely audible.
Reggie clenched his teeth harder, hands still stubbornly protected against his coat. He was having a difficult time denying them the relief. With a final glance to the kitchen to assure himself that the two obnoxious residents still inside wouldn’t be able to see them, he finally gave in, relinquishing the quivering leaves to the drummer.
The deep tint spread across Reggie’s face almost exactly on cue as the fluid slipped over his aching fingers. It actually would have helped him if the dripping canine hadn’t taken them so tenderly. In spite of his awkwardness, Reggie couldn’t control the quiet sigh of relief that fell from his bill at the cooling water. There was a peculiar curing quality to the drummer’s form that normal water simply lacked. Reggie was really starting to wish that wasn’t true.
Bud couldn’t keep his eyes off the mallard’s face. The look of relief softened his features making the moment suddenly very irresistible. Mixed with the tingling feeling the contact produced it was enough to distract the drummer from everything around him. He wouldn’t have complained if the moment lasted for hours, but as usual it was far more fleeting than he would have preferred, a swift end being put to the serenity when a certain mallard decided to make an appearance.
“Oy, Bushy boo! They got your shit here! Heehheahhaha, get it? SHIT! Cause it’s fertilizer!” The annoying chortling continued as Jack pulled his head back inside. Reggie could still hear it through the glass barrier separating them.
He yanked his hands abruptly away from the cool streams as the interruption registered, blush spreading more forcefully across his face as he realized the vulnerable position he had put himself in once again. He didn’t even give Bud the chance to say anything before following swiftly after the animated rhythmist. Bud sighed, following dejectedly after the departing bassist. He was starting to really despise the emotional turmoil the flowery-mallard managed to keep putting him through.
Back in the kitchen, the still miserable rodent was now situated nearby the large sink, hunched over slightly and looking far sicker than he had previously. Reggie had a feeling it had something to do with the greasy, starchy masses of food still being made for the jester currently patting his back gently.
“Aww poor Mo Mo,” Jack said, his voice a mix of comforting and teasing, “Wanna go back to playing your FILTHY video games?” Despite his obvious desire to make his playmate feel better, the shudders that ran down his spine at the suggestion attested to how badly he actually wanted to suffer more of the virtual anguish.
“Nooo I think I’ll just hang out with the garbage disposal for a while,” Elmo replied miserably, arms propped on the side of the sink as he tried to make his bent position more comfortable.
“Fine, suit yourself,” Jack replied, his attention turning to the two mutants that had just reentered the manor. If only a certain bassist had noticed the mischievous grin that was suddenly being sent his way.
Reggie lowered himself back into the seat he had previously been occupying, resting his chin on his palms as the servant set about pouring the soil into a container for him. The somewhat repulsed feeling was difficult to ignore despite the fact that just the sight of the dirt suddenly made him want it very bad. He tipped his head at the tub of high quality potting soil that was placed at his feet.
“Uhh… thanks,” he said awkwardly to the retreating servant. He never would get used to having people around to wait on him.
Timid feet pushed the soil under the table so that he could have better access to it without moving his position. It took more resolve than he expected to keep the pleasurable look off his face as he worked wooded toes deep into the nutrient rich dirt. The sensation was hardly what he had expected. He could almost feel the nourishment seeping through the vascular system of his lower half, spreading the life-saving sustenance through him in a way that was difficult to comprehend. Heavy lids fluttered closed as the feeling settled in his gut, soothing some of the horrible pangs of pain that had been ailing him all day.
The relief was fleeting, quickly being stripped away when a certain local annoyance decided to join him. He shuddered harshly, disgusted and mildly terrified expression crossing his face as Jack plopped into the chair beside him, one arm behind his back and one propped on the table to support his head as he stared at Reggie. The mutant’s brow twitched when the other didn’t say anything.
“What?!” he finally snapped at the grinning mallard, annoyance plain on his face.
The answer was curt and undeniably unexpected.
“Potato!” Jack cried elatedly, smacking a previously concealed handful of mashed spuds into the irritated mutant’s face.
Reggie cried out in shock and irrational terror at the unexpected facial. He jumped from his chair and rushed to the nearby sink as quickly he could with the potatoes obscuring his vision. Elmo had to practically jump to the side to avoid him, leaning back against the counter with a slightly amused smirk on his face. Despite his current discomfort, he couldn’t deny his amusement at his friend’s juvenile antics.
Jack cackled in satisfaction at the fearful and hilariously unbecoming reaction, giggling as the horrified mallard washed the lumpy mass from his face. “Oooh you are SO gonna regret letting me find out about THAT one Bushy,” he said between snickers.
Reggie shuddered in response. How he wished that wasn’t true.
A quick end was put to the momentarily lightened atmosphere in the room when a certain disgruntled singer decided to make his way into the kitchen. Reggie could see the rodent beside him shudder slightly at the other’s entrance, prompting the bassist’s gaze over his shoulder to see what had caused the tense in the room.
Negaduck’s already irritated glare deepened in menacing quality as he regarded the others. “What?!” he growled, challenging the stares, “I need my fucking coffee!” a string of displeased grumbles followed the menacing mallard as he made his way to the permanently filled coffee pot. “You!” he snapped at the nameless underling, still fiddling with Jack’s food, “Go get my fuckin’ drugs.”
Just the sound of the word made Elmo shake violently. Things only got worse when the timid employee returned with several already-filled hypodermics.
Reggie could practically feel the form beside him tense with at the sight of the needle. The shudders returned with a vengeance as the suffering guitarist turned to face the sink again. Despite the move, it was painfully obvious that his eyes were still fixed intently on the unsettling reminder of his past. Elmo looked utterly ill as the mallard flicked the syringe and removed the air. His whole body lurched slightly at the sight, the soft retching sound he produced giving external display of his current discomfort. He put a trembling hand to his muzzle to quiet the noise, but it was already too late.
Timid eyes focused on the red gaze now staring through him. The evil grin and soft grunting laughs made him slink back, shifting until he was behind his now glaring companion that had since come to stand beside him, staring pitifully past Jack’s red and black hat.
“What’s the matter Sparky? Jonesin’ for a fiiix?” Negaduck growled amusedly. The cruel laughs resumed when Elmo shuddered in response, shrinking further behind Jack as though to hide from his own desires. “Just like old times, eh?” He moved the needle as though to stick it in the veins at his arms, grinning evilly at the shaking rodent. Elmo didn’t wait to see the result, taking off at a run from the room.
“ASSHOLE!” Jack spat, voice filled with an abnormal amount of malice.
“Oh, unknot your fucking panties!” Negaduck replied crossly, moving the needle from where it was pressed against his arm. “It’s Tarodol,” he continued wiggling the syringe as though to emphasize his point. “It’s for my fucking migraines. It’s like poppin’ a thousand aspirin. He can shoot it up all he wants and he’s not gonna get high.” The singer leaned back against the chair as he finished, shoving the needle forcefully into his exposed thigh as he did.
Reggie could see the depth of rage clearly on Jack’s face as he stood before the singer, hands clenched and shaking, teeth grit in a furious scowl. He’d never seen the jester so angry. For the first time, he saw him beyond words. Jack wanted nothing more at that moment than to tear the singer apart and Reggie saw it.
“You got somethin’ to say Quack?” Negaduck questioned deeply, spitting the last word out as though it were dirt upon his tongue.
Reggie did his best to make himself as inconspicuous as possible as he slid past the snarling rhythmist, slinking back to the table to avoid the altercation he suddenly feared would happen. He could practically see Jack chewing on his tongue to keep his outburst at bay. Bud didn’t react when the shocked bassist slipped into the seat beside him. He didn’t blame the other for wanting to distance himself from the middle of the two enraged mallards.
Jack continued to clench his fists as Negaduck stared him down, his stance only easing slightly when the other duck stood, advancing on his taller band mate. With a final furious growl, Jack turned and stormed after his companion.
It was several long moments before Reggie finally pulled himself from the stupor that the scene produced. He took a moment to close the jaw he just realized was hanging open. He was starting to learn way more about his housemates than he was comfortable knowing.
He leaned subtly towards the drummer beside him, unable to deny the sudden need to inquire about the unsettling scene. “Is this… normal?”
Bud shrugged slightly at the question, still somewhat distracted by his own disconcerting feelings. “Oh we go through this every few months or so. Sometimes it’s longer, sometimes it’s shorter. But every now and then Elmo goes through a relapse phase. Gets the shakes real bad, eats even less than he already does, sometimes he even stops hooking up to his battery. Negs torments him for a while, Mo gets depressed and Jack gets all riled up.” Bud paused for a moment “Then of course I get put on damage control so that Elmo doesn’t get all suicidal and Jack doesn’t go on a rampage.”
“Funny I woulda figured Negaduck wouldn’t give a shit.”
“Mm normally no. But he’d never let Mo die. He can’t afford to. He needs Sparks too much… that kid is his meal ticket ya know.” Just as he said it Bud caught sight of Negaduck’s glare. He quickly slipped away from the bassist, showing that he’d caught the message that he was talking too much. The subtle scene did not go unnoticed by Reggie. He cocked a confused brow at the silent obedience Bud exhibited. How does he get you to be so cooperative? He thought curiously.
The obviously irritated singer continued to glare as the silence between the two stretched on.
Bud rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably under the stare. “Something tells me that is our cue to leave,” he muttered to the bassist beside him.
“I could so not agree more,” Reggie replied quietly following the drummer’s lead out of the kitchen. “I have…” he trailed of regarding the small clumps of mashed potato still clinging to his floral hair as they made their way back to the upper level, “never needed a shower so badly in my life,” he finished, shuddering slightly.
The air was heavy between them as they made their way towards the rooms. Without the distraction of the other band members, it was becoming increasingly difficult for them to ignore their respective discomforts. Bud’s liquid eyes finally shifted to the brooding bassist beside him, the gaze prompting Reggie to turn his head away from the stare.
Bud sighed in response. “Tell me you’re not planning on doing anything stupid.”
“Don’t insult me,” Reggie muttered in reply, pulling a cigarette roughly from his pack.
“Look, whatever’s messing with your head right now just… just don’t go anywhere Reggie. When he finds you, and he will, you know he’s gonna hurt you.” The look he gave Reggie was filled with regret. “And believe me, it won’t be pleasant.”
“Just STOP!”
The furious scowl Reggie sent him in reaction was not what Bud expected. He swallowed thickly at the continued glaring. “Who the hell appointed YOU my personal guard dog anyway?!” the fuming mallard continued; it was becoming increasingly obvious that Reggie was currently having a bit of an internal break down.
Before Bud could even offer an answer, the door to Reggie’s room, which the flowing drummer hadn’t even noticed had been placed between them, was slammed in his face. He blinked stupidly at the barrier, mouth open and mind baffled.
Why do you care so much? The thought prompted the sopping dog to pace back and forth down the dark hallway. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to convince his body to venture very far from the bassist’s room. Why did he care so much?
Within the secluded confines of his room, Reggie leaned back against the now closed door, sighing heavily and letting his dying cigarette to fall to the ground uncaringly. He knew the water-dog wasn’t really what was bothering him so much, but he had to admit he made a convenient victim for his current frustration. Plus there were other feelings the dripping mongrel elicited that he would prefer not to admit to and imposing his anger on the drummer made him feel at least a bit better.
He practically stormed to his bathroom, removing his black coat as he went. He couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him at the loss of the fabric. He never could get over the exposed feeling that always plagued him without its presence.
Inside the lavished lavatory, Reggie regarded the large shower for the first time. Still quivering fingers removed the bandages on his hands before he slipped into the glass-encased confines of the shower. He sighed heavily as he twisted at the embellished, metal knob that would bring the faucet to life. The fuming mutant’s sour mood was already falling into one of his more usual mentally stressed states and the thought of washing his burdens away was suddenly very appealing. He almost moaned at the water that resulted from the twisting. Reggie couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a warm shower. For the first time since he had joined the ranks of the fearsome five, he let his guard drop. He held trembling fingers beneath the water, adjusting the temperature so that it was cool enough to not make his leafy-digits burn more. His eyelids slipped closed as he soaked in the relieving streams. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t convince himself that it was as good as a certain watery-canine’s. A soft and half-hearted growl sounded at the thought. He tried desperately to ignore the way his fingers seemed to quiver with the desire for more of the mongrel’s contact. Little did he know that his thoughts mirrored the unknown presence that had been observing him.
Bud didn’t know what exactly had prompted him to apologize to the bassist right at that moment, but he quickly regretted it. The one thing he noticed immediately was that Reggie hadn’t bothered to close the glass door that would hide him from view. Bud couldn’t tell if he wished he had or not. Either way he couldn’t deny the immense enjoyment he got out of the unwitting show the other provided. The warm water was streaming down the bassist’s smooth, green chest in a manner that was erotic to Bud in a way that would be difficult for him to explain to someone of a more solid persuasion. His whole body trembled at the way Reggie’s damp mess of long hair framed his face, small rivers of water slipping down his closed eyes and slightly open beak. Bud shuddered at the sight. For the first time in his watery life he knew he’d be blushing if it wasn’t for his liquid form. He put a startled hand to his cheek as though he could feel the pink tint that should have been there. It was warm. In fact, his entire body was warm, even bubbling ever so slightly. Watery locks shook frantically as Bud shook his head, slipping quickly from the room and away from the bathing bassist.
Luckily for him, his turmoil went unnoticed by the plant-duck still soaking in the relieving waters. Reggie was far too absorbed to notice the sparking, liquid figure retreating into the shadowy hallway.
The unsettling feeling of entrapment had returned with a vengeance. Thin arms wrapped around his midsection as he resisted the urge to hyperventilate. He hadn’t quite realized how hard he had been focusing to keep the anxiety attack at bay. Even the brief lapse in his concentration had been sufficient to elicit a panic. Shaking fingers gripped blindly at the faucet, halting the streaming water as he slipped from the glass-enclosed shower. Purple locks shook erratically as he paced around the oversized bathroom, injured fingers twining in the strands to pull at his hair.
“Four months trapped in this place with… them! Why did I think I could do this. There’s no way I’m gonna make it that long!”
The random rant stopped as the mutant mallard tried to pull himself together. The harsh grip he’d had on his hair had made his fingers sting horribly again and his mood was only worsening as the agonizing moments passed.
His thoughts turned to Bud as he remembered the warning to stay put. Blue eyes narrowed irately at the warmth the other seemed to bring to his cheeks; he couldn’t stop the embarrassment that thoughts of the water-dog elicited. A furious growl sounded in response to the unwanted feelings, prompting the rebellious streak buried within him to show itself. He tipped his head over ruffling his leafy hands through his hair rapidly to remove the bulk of the water before grabbing his coat and hastily covering his still damp form in its comforting shroud.
He grabbed three fresh packs of cigarettes and stuffed them in his pockets as an afterthought as he made his way to the still-open balcony doors. A brief look over his shoulder was the only indication he gave of his uncertainty before slipping to the edge of the balcony.
“Sorry Bud,” he muttered into the dark, “but I gotta get out of here.”
It was a slow trip to the ground, the massive nature of the building making it a task to scale. Sore fingers struggled to find places to hold as he made his way down the manor’s side, slim arms trembling slightly at the exertion. As he made his way past the main levels, the once whispered sound of torment-ridden screams grew louder and louder. He tried to tell himself that he couldn’t hear the cries.
Once his roots safely touched the ground, it was only mildly difficult for Reggie to make his way through the inky alleyways. His many years on the streets made it easy to navigate the darkened roads undetected despite the hundreds of fans still partying. The trip was aided by his black coat and the many abandoned houses littering the city. It didn’t take long for Reggie to slip past the city’s twisted confines and into the dark edges of the polluted metropolis. He wasn’t sure exactly where he planned to go, but only the distant badlands offered any semblance of safety, drawing him inexplicably into the darkened woods.
Back in the towering manor, Bud was still brooding over a certain unsettling, yet horribly sensual scene. He couldn’t even think straight. He hardly even noticed when he reentered the kitchen, the quick nature of his trip making the journey almost too short for him to comprehend. Bud sighed heavily, slipping into one of chairs by the heavy table and resting his chin forlornly on the table top. He sat that way for several moments before growling angrily and lifting his head.
“This is NOT anything special,” he told himself, banging a watery fist against the surface in front of him. “This is just a sex thing. He’s hardly the first bassist you’ve wanted to fuck. He’s just like any of the others!”
But he wasn’t.
Bud sighed again, putting his face in his hands and moaning pitifully for a moment. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into Buddy?” he mumbled forlornly.
It was a few moments before he registered the feeling that he was being watched. He finally tilted his head, moving his hands off his face slightly to investigate. A rather dumbfounded Elmo met his gaze, standing in the doorway with a brow cocked at him.
“You uhh… talkin’ to yourself there Bud?” he finally questioned, a slight edge of amusement to his voice.
Bud blinked stupidly for a moment, straightening his form in the chair. After he got over the shock of being caught having a breakdown, he realized that he was actually quite lucky that it had been Elmo that walked in on him. It wouldn’t be too hard to get out of it.
“Why the hell are you coming in here talking crazy Mo,” he finally retorted.
“What?” was the confused reply.
“What?”
“…Huh?!”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Are you trying to confuse me?”
“Depends… You remember what we were talking about?”
Elmo blinked at this, scratching under his chin as he thought hard. “You know… I don’t even remember why the hell I came in here.” The light bulb that suddenly went off in the fried mind was painted all over the rodent’s face. “Bud!”
The drummer shook his head at the young band member. “Yes Mo?” he replied.
“Uh I think the bassist is gone. Might wanna go get him before Negs finds out,” he finished distractedly, pointing a gloved thumb over his shoulder.”
“What?!” Bud yelled, his slight bemusement and depression erased in an instant as he moved quickly from his chair, practically pinning a now terrified Elmo to the wall behind him. “Where?!”
“I don’t know dude!” Elmo sputtered, a slightly horrified edge to his voice.
Bud moved even closer, pressing his hands on either side of the shaking rodent. “Well what the hell happened?!”
“Two foot rule!” Elmo squeaked at the increase in the already unsettling proximity.
“Screw your two foot rule! Tell me what you know!”
“Look I just saw him go out the window!”
“God damnit!” Bud snapped, slipping away from the terrified rodent without another thought, much to Elmo’s relief.
The trip was quicker than usual, Bud’s hope to catch the other before he left hastening his pace. He couldn’t claim surprise when he found the room empty. The open doors gave hint enough to where the missing bassist had gone. For a moment he considered just not going after him.
He sighed heavily and wearily at the voice of reason that told him that it was never going to happen. “Why do you put me through this shit Reggie?” he muttered.
Bud slipped his fluid form out the window without another thought; the fall was hardly capable of killing him. He had a hunch he knew where the unstable mallard was going. He only hoped that he could find him before a certain homicidal singer did.

Yay it’s finally over! Wooo!
Pooor Buddy, he’s in lub <3
Ok so there’s chapter 6. Again sorry things didn’t really go anywhere in this one but it will get more interesting after the next chapter which should be coming soon!
Stay tuned for more metalness.
Ariaa AWAY! Woosh!!!
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Screw the Bassist