Post by penguinpyro on Feb 12, 2022 14:12:25 GMT -5
Fire. Burning. Sweat. Fear. The stench of battle. The heft of his ax. The wind in his hair. The roar of gunfire.
The punch of shrapnel in his back. The fall. His horse's neck left his vision and the reins slacked as they left his hands.
He fell… and he fell…and he fell.
The Grand Duck startled awake and felt a hardwood floor against his cheek. He flipped up to his feet. The platypus might have been large among his kin, but the Grand Duck’s head could barely see over the bed he fell from. The human world was that much larger. An armored figure stood at the door to his bedroom.
"Good morning, duck-billed Khan," said the disembodied shade of legendary Mongolian warlord Genghis Khan.
"Shove off, Genghis," said the Duck. He walked straight through Genghis. He felt the chill down his spine as he touched the ghost, but he refused to let any part of his body react.
Winter greeted his body as he descended the stairs. The air still had the brisk bite of the morning, but he didn't mind. Many nights under steppe and savannah skies had inured his body to cold.
He went for the fridge and tore it ajar. A frown crossed his bill.
<We’re out of stuff>, he muttered.
“Yes, sir”, said a voice. The Duck’s hairs stood up in startlement. He turned around.
His maidservant, Callie, stood ready. The blonde woman wore a black and white maid’s dress.
<How long have you been there?> he asked.
“Long enough, sir,” she replied.
<Well...> The Duck couldn’t think of anything sarcastic this time. <...we need groceries.>
“Yes, sir. If you will provide a list, I will have everything in an hour.”
<No. I’m coming with you. I want to kill time before racing practice.>
“Very good, sir.”
<We leave immediately.>
“Yes, sir,” she turned around.
He glared in annoyance as she left.
----
It isn’t that she’s a poor conversationalist, the Duck decided. But something about Callie bothered him. She didn’t have an attitude, quite the opposite, she was always earnest. He normally appreciated that, but not with her somehow.
She had changed into a thick flannel shirt and jeans, but still looked far too prim and neat to be casual. The Duck wore nothing but the fur he was born in. He resolved to have himself some clothes tailored while they were out. Callie wouldn’t complain about more stops. She never complained. That wasn’t what bothered him, though...
His thoughts were interrupted by a well-worn sense of danger.
A set of street toughs were walking along with them, hooting and catcalling at Callie. She ignored them with flawless aplomb, which only seemed to encourage them.
One fellow with missing teeth and a sweat-stained tank top made a rude remark about Callie’s posterior. The Duck submerged an urge to rip that guy’s tongue out his anus. He could tell Callie didn’t care, but he still wanted to, on principle! Callie kept walking as if they weren’t there.
“What the hell is that thing she’s with anyways?” another man with gold teeth and golden tattoos on his knuckles.
“I dunno, it’s got to be the ugliest dog I have ever seen”, said a third street tough.
“Hot chicks man, they always pick the ugliest dogs, ”said a fourth.
“Why is it even walking on two legs? It must be messed up,” said the last man in the entourage.
If I kill them, I’ll be on the run from the law and unable to race cars and then I gave up on the warlord life for nothing. The Duck forced himself to breathe as he walked beside Callie. I must stay calm.
“Come on shake that ass!” The Duck wasn’t sure which one of them said that. It was hard to see with all the red.
<Little bastards! > he growled.
“Sir, I can deal with them if you would like”, she replied.
“Ohhh, she can ‘deal’ with us!” The nearest thug hooted in triumph as if he had won by getting her to talk at all. The sound of a high five punctuated their overlapping heckles.
“Yeah, just ditch the freaky dog and you can get freaky with us!” said another.
“Dumb thing looks like one of those deformed breeds that can’t breathe anyway, you’ll be doing it a mercy,” yet another chimed.
<Callie, translate for me, > said the Duck. He turned to them. <I’m a platypus, asswipes.>
“My employer would like to clarify he is a platypus and not a dog”, said Callie.
“Hey, she’s hot and crazy!” said one of the men. He made a yowling sound.
“Ew, is it talking to us?!”
“What does she mean her 'employer'? Is she one of those mental chicks?”
<Okay, I tried talking. Callie, please inform them that their testicles deserve this.>
“I’d start running if I were you”, Callie faithfully translated.
“Sugar tits, we have all your running ri-” Sweaty Tank Top leaned forward to grab Callie.
He never got there.
One crunching sound later, Sweaty Top folded like newspaper and made a high noise that would have attracted actual dogs. He hit the ground like it was his best friend forever and embraced it in sharp convulsions.
The Duck retracted a balled fist from between the fallen man’s legs.
“What the- did it just attack us?” exclaimed Gold Knuckles. He lunged to kick the platypus. The Duck scampered up the swinging foot and springboarded off his knee. Gold Knuckles went down in a heap with the Duck punching and biting at his face. Another thug started to grab the platypus. With a snarl, the Duck spun in a circle with his claws extended, tearing open the grabber’s hand.
Satisfied with Gold Knuckles’ rapidly swelling face, the Duck lunged at the fourth thug. The Duck sidestepped a punch and leaped up like a missile into his current victim’s chest. He headbutted into soft flesh. The fifth man in the group swore and ran away.
The Duck’s current opponent crumpled into a ball and remained fetal as the Duck rained down kicks and bites.
The tough with the slashed hand gathered his wits after a bout of screaming. He aimed a running kick at the Duck’s back.
The Duck backflipped as the foot was about to reach him, and interposed his own foot before the charging thug’s face. The man clotheslined himself against the Duck’s kick and made an impressive, if involuntary, spin onto the sidewalk.
Callie leaned slightly to dodge the falling man’s foot. She remained where she had spent the entire fight, watching impassively. The Duck made a perfect landing into a feral stance.
The remaining street toughs finally realized what they got into, then scrambled and limped away.
“Holy shit, it’s like Perry the Platypus!” one said.
“I don’t care what the hell it is, let’s get out of here!”
They beat feet, leaving the Duck and Callie alone.
<What the fuck is a Perry?> asked the Duck.
“I am unsure, sir”, replied Callie. “I can find ou-”
<No. Don’t. Just… ugh….> He forced himself to breathe and focus his rushing thoughts. He put his hands to his head. <I’ve grown soft, and weak. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have to hit cheap punks like them twice.>
Callie listened with a sympathetic look.
The Duck waited for her to say something.
She put a hand on the platypus’s shoulder. He bristled, not at the touch but at her ability to know just what he needed. It bothered him even as the gesture comforted him.
<Look, let’s just get to the store. Faster we get in and out, less trouble we’ll run into.>
“Very good, sir.”
—-
The staring didn’t bother him as much. Or there was simply less this time. The Duck accepted a hefty bag of shrimp and fish heads from the seafood department’s clerk. The clerk was a lot faster this time, too. Perhaps the third time a platypus ordered seafood was less of a shock.
<Callie, you want anything?>, the Duck grunted.
“I am fine with fish, sir.”
The Duck looked up at her eyes and raised an eyebrow. <Seriously. Money is no object, we can get anything. I know humans can’t live on fish and shrimp.>
“If you insist, I could shop for myself later without taking your time, sir.”
<Fine whatever. We’re already out here, but...>
He knew that arguing wouldn’t make him feel better. She’s too damn agreeable!
<Okay, next fish paste… fish sauce… peanut butter. And we’re done.>
“Very good, sir,” said Callie without a hint of judgment.
Heads continue to turn while the Duck walked alongside Callie’s shopping cart. At least this time there were fewer double-takes or video recordings.
The Duck remembered that intimidation wouldn’t stop these soft-skulled fools from gawking. They didn’t recognize a show of force until it was down their throats, and then he’d be in trouble. If he was growing soft, then they were seafoam, blown away with the smallest aggression. He remembered why he got into the steppe warlord life so long ago. This kind of softness, this weakness, it demanded-
The brief chirp of sirens outside interrupted him.
<You know what Callie?> he blurted. <You shop for yourself right now. Get my things and your things, I’ll meet you back home. That’s an order.>
Callie did not question the sudden change with even a raised eyebrow. She gave a nod and continued to shop.
The Duck scampered up the store shelves with speed to shame a squirrel. He ran along the tops of the shelves like a giant, deranged mouse. If anyone saw him, his swift movements and leaps soon lost their gaze.
From his vantage, he saw a pair of police officers enter the store, confer among themselves, and then stop Callie.
“Miss, a moment of your time?” one of them asked.
“Of course, officers,” she said.
—--
“No officer, I am not aware of any platypus named Perry mauling those men,” said Callie. “Nor do I own a dog or any pet. I believe there has been a misunderstanding.”
“Seems that way, miss. We’re not sure what could have caused those injuries. I mean, I’ve been on the force for fifteen years. I’ve seen martial arts do horrible things to people and I’ve seen animals do horrible things to people. This looked like both at once, but if the martial artist was very small… “ The officer looked lost in contemplation, then snapped to attention. “Well, clearly you didn’t do it so we’ll keep searching. We also can’t rule out some internal fight among those men.”
“I can’t imagine what else could have done it. I hope you find your culprit, officers.”
“Of course, miss. We’ll be on our way. Good day.”
—--
Callie returned home to find the Duck waiting at the kitchen table. She set down two full grocery bags.
The Duck brusquely took some fish sauce, peanut butter, fish paste, and fish heads and shredded them in a blender. If the stench bothered her, she showed no sign. He slurped the foul mixture as if daring her to speak. She did not, so he poured some in a cup and offered it. He closely examined her expression.
“Thank you for the drink, sir.” She drank it without complaint or hesitation.
The platypus stared incredulously.
<Okay, you know what, Callie? How do you do it?! How are you weirdly the perfect maid?>
“I am trained to a high standard and I aim to please, sir.”
<Ffffffu- forget it. I’m out. Clean up after me.>
Callie nodded as the Duck left, and got to work.
The punch of shrapnel in his back. The fall. His horse's neck left his vision and the reins slacked as they left his hands.
He fell… and he fell…and he fell.
The Grand Duck startled awake and felt a hardwood floor against his cheek. He flipped up to his feet. The platypus might have been large among his kin, but the Grand Duck’s head could barely see over the bed he fell from. The human world was that much larger. An armored figure stood at the door to his bedroom.
"Good morning, duck-billed Khan," said the disembodied shade of legendary Mongolian warlord Genghis Khan.
"Shove off, Genghis," said the Duck. He walked straight through Genghis. He felt the chill down his spine as he touched the ghost, but he refused to let any part of his body react.
Winter greeted his body as he descended the stairs. The air still had the brisk bite of the morning, but he didn't mind. Many nights under steppe and savannah skies had inured his body to cold.
He went for the fridge and tore it ajar. A frown crossed his bill.
<We’re out of stuff>, he muttered.
“Yes, sir”, said a voice. The Duck’s hairs stood up in startlement. He turned around.
His maidservant, Callie, stood ready. The blonde woman wore a black and white maid’s dress.
<How long have you been there?> he asked.
“Long enough, sir,” she replied.
<Well...> The Duck couldn’t think of anything sarcastic this time. <...we need groceries.>
“Yes, sir. If you will provide a list, I will have everything in an hour.”
<No. I’m coming with you. I want to kill time before racing practice.>
“Very good, sir.”
<We leave immediately.>
“Yes, sir,” she turned around.
He glared in annoyance as she left.
----
It isn’t that she’s a poor conversationalist, the Duck decided. But something about Callie bothered him. She didn’t have an attitude, quite the opposite, she was always earnest. He normally appreciated that, but not with her somehow.
She had changed into a thick flannel shirt and jeans, but still looked far too prim and neat to be casual. The Duck wore nothing but the fur he was born in. He resolved to have himself some clothes tailored while they were out. Callie wouldn’t complain about more stops. She never complained. That wasn’t what bothered him, though...
His thoughts were interrupted by a well-worn sense of danger.
A set of street toughs were walking along with them, hooting and catcalling at Callie. She ignored them with flawless aplomb, which only seemed to encourage them.
One fellow with missing teeth and a sweat-stained tank top made a rude remark about Callie’s posterior. The Duck submerged an urge to rip that guy’s tongue out his anus. He could tell Callie didn’t care, but he still wanted to, on principle! Callie kept walking as if they weren’t there.
“What the hell is that thing she’s with anyways?” another man with gold teeth and golden tattoos on his knuckles.
“I dunno, it’s got to be the ugliest dog I have ever seen”, said a third street tough.
“Hot chicks man, they always pick the ugliest dogs, ”said a fourth.
“Why is it even walking on two legs? It must be messed up,” said the last man in the entourage.
If I kill them, I’ll be on the run from the law and unable to race cars and then I gave up on the warlord life for nothing. The Duck forced himself to breathe as he walked beside Callie. I must stay calm.
“Come on shake that ass!” The Duck wasn’t sure which one of them said that. It was hard to see with all the red.
<Little bastards! > he growled.
“Sir, I can deal with them if you would like”, she replied.
“Ohhh, she can ‘deal’ with us!” The nearest thug hooted in triumph as if he had won by getting her to talk at all. The sound of a high five punctuated their overlapping heckles.
“Yeah, just ditch the freaky dog and you can get freaky with us!” said another.
“Dumb thing looks like one of those deformed breeds that can’t breathe anyway, you’ll be doing it a mercy,” yet another chimed.
<Callie, translate for me, > said the Duck. He turned to them. <I’m a platypus, asswipes.>
“My employer would like to clarify he is a platypus and not a dog”, said Callie.
“Hey, she’s hot and crazy!” said one of the men. He made a yowling sound.
“Ew, is it talking to us?!”
“What does she mean her 'employer'? Is she one of those mental chicks?”
<Okay, I tried talking. Callie, please inform them that their testicles deserve this.>
“I’d start running if I were you”, Callie faithfully translated.
“Sugar tits, we have all your running ri-” Sweaty Tank Top leaned forward to grab Callie.
He never got there.
One crunching sound later, Sweaty Top folded like newspaper and made a high noise that would have attracted actual dogs. He hit the ground like it was his best friend forever and embraced it in sharp convulsions.
The Duck retracted a balled fist from between the fallen man’s legs.
“What the- did it just attack us?” exclaimed Gold Knuckles. He lunged to kick the platypus. The Duck scampered up the swinging foot and springboarded off his knee. Gold Knuckles went down in a heap with the Duck punching and biting at his face. Another thug started to grab the platypus. With a snarl, the Duck spun in a circle with his claws extended, tearing open the grabber’s hand.
Satisfied with Gold Knuckles’ rapidly swelling face, the Duck lunged at the fourth thug. The Duck sidestepped a punch and leaped up like a missile into his current victim’s chest. He headbutted into soft flesh. The fifth man in the group swore and ran away.
The Duck’s current opponent crumpled into a ball and remained fetal as the Duck rained down kicks and bites.
The tough with the slashed hand gathered his wits after a bout of screaming. He aimed a running kick at the Duck’s back.
The Duck backflipped as the foot was about to reach him, and interposed his own foot before the charging thug’s face. The man clotheslined himself against the Duck’s kick and made an impressive, if involuntary, spin onto the sidewalk.
Callie leaned slightly to dodge the falling man’s foot. She remained where she had spent the entire fight, watching impassively. The Duck made a perfect landing into a feral stance.
The remaining street toughs finally realized what they got into, then scrambled and limped away.
“Holy shit, it’s like Perry the Platypus!” one said.
“I don’t care what the hell it is, let’s get out of here!”
They beat feet, leaving the Duck and Callie alone.
<What the fuck is a Perry?> asked the Duck.
“I am unsure, sir”, replied Callie. “I can find ou-”
<No. Don’t. Just… ugh….> He forced himself to breathe and focus his rushing thoughts. He put his hands to his head. <I’ve grown soft, and weak. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have to hit cheap punks like them twice.>
Callie listened with a sympathetic look.
The Duck waited for her to say something.
She put a hand on the platypus’s shoulder. He bristled, not at the touch but at her ability to know just what he needed. It bothered him even as the gesture comforted him.
<Look, let’s just get to the store. Faster we get in and out, less trouble we’ll run into.>
“Very good, sir.”
—-
The staring didn’t bother him as much. Or there was simply less this time. The Duck accepted a hefty bag of shrimp and fish heads from the seafood department’s clerk. The clerk was a lot faster this time, too. Perhaps the third time a platypus ordered seafood was less of a shock.
<Callie, you want anything?>, the Duck grunted.
“I am fine with fish, sir.”
The Duck looked up at her eyes and raised an eyebrow. <Seriously. Money is no object, we can get anything. I know humans can’t live on fish and shrimp.>
“If you insist, I could shop for myself later without taking your time, sir.”
<Fine whatever. We’re already out here, but...>
He knew that arguing wouldn’t make him feel better. She’s too damn agreeable!
<Okay, next fish paste… fish sauce… peanut butter. And we’re done.>
“Very good, sir,” said Callie without a hint of judgment.
Heads continue to turn while the Duck walked alongside Callie’s shopping cart. At least this time there were fewer double-takes or video recordings.
The Duck remembered that intimidation wouldn’t stop these soft-skulled fools from gawking. They didn’t recognize a show of force until it was down their throats, and then he’d be in trouble. If he was growing soft, then they were seafoam, blown away with the smallest aggression. He remembered why he got into the steppe warlord life so long ago. This kind of softness, this weakness, it demanded-
The brief chirp of sirens outside interrupted him.
<You know what Callie?> he blurted. <You shop for yourself right now. Get my things and your things, I’ll meet you back home. That’s an order.>
Callie did not question the sudden change with even a raised eyebrow. She gave a nod and continued to shop.
The Duck scampered up the store shelves with speed to shame a squirrel. He ran along the tops of the shelves like a giant, deranged mouse. If anyone saw him, his swift movements and leaps soon lost their gaze.
From his vantage, he saw a pair of police officers enter the store, confer among themselves, and then stop Callie.
“Miss, a moment of your time?” one of them asked.
“Of course, officers,” she said.
—--
“No officer, I am not aware of any platypus named Perry mauling those men,” said Callie. “Nor do I own a dog or any pet. I believe there has been a misunderstanding.”
“Seems that way, miss. We’re not sure what could have caused those injuries. I mean, I’ve been on the force for fifteen years. I’ve seen martial arts do horrible things to people and I’ve seen animals do horrible things to people. This looked like both at once, but if the martial artist was very small… “ The officer looked lost in contemplation, then snapped to attention. “Well, clearly you didn’t do it so we’ll keep searching. We also can’t rule out some internal fight among those men.”
“I can’t imagine what else could have done it. I hope you find your culprit, officers.”
“Of course, miss. We’ll be on our way. Good day.”
—--
Callie returned home to find the Duck waiting at the kitchen table. She set down two full grocery bags.
The Duck brusquely took some fish sauce, peanut butter, fish paste, and fish heads and shredded them in a blender. If the stench bothered her, she showed no sign. He slurped the foul mixture as if daring her to speak. She did not, so he poured some in a cup and offered it. He closely examined her expression.
“Thank you for the drink, sir.” She drank it without complaint or hesitation.
The platypus stared incredulously.
<Okay, you know what, Callie? How do you do it?! How are you weirdly the perfect maid?>
“I am trained to a high standard and I aim to please, sir.”
<Ffffffu- forget it. I’m out. Clean up after me.>
Callie nodded as the Duck left, and got to work.