capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

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WHO: Duck, Fakir, Ryan
WHERE: Flat on the outskirts of the city, where Doul and Duck are staying
WHEN: Monday, March 2, '09
WARNINGS: Fluffy cuteness
SUMMARY: Duck wants to play big sister to Fakir, Ryan brings him over
FORMAT: Whatever you like

From the moment Duck had figured out what was happening with Fakir, she hadn't been able to do anything all day. She kept tripping and dropping stuff, and was generally at her clumsiest. She couldn't help it. Out there, alone, was a five-year-old version of her very best friend in the whole wide world. Then that Ryan guy called her up and said he'd picked Fakir up from his dorm. And she was curious to meet him, as well as see Fakir.

It was up to her to take care of him like he had taken care of her. FIGHT, DUCK! Gotta be strong!

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Ryan was . . . Not that used to small kids. Sure, he had taught a few dance classes to small kids but they weren't really all that small. The youngest group he had taught was probably seven or eight years old - which was not that far from Fakir, but that had also been the group he had been most baffled with. Mostly, Ryan tried to stick to kids ten and older because by that time they were actually ready to dance. And Ryan didn't teach for the money, he taught because he liked seeing the kids on stage and becoming swans. It wasn't like he needed the money back home - here was another matter entirely though.

But none of that was the real point. The real point was that Ryan had fetched Fakir - partially because Ryan had hated how lost Fakir had sounded and partially because he didn't think it was a good idea to wait until someone that knew him fetched him. The City was not East High and it was not safe. The recent material had proven that point perfectly, it really had. So Ryan had gone to get this kid he didn't even know, had asked him an endless number of questions about his mother and had dragged him around for three hours before Fakir had gotten tired and Ryan had carried him up to his room in the MAC and tucked him in.

And now he was going to return Fakir to people (a person, really) he knew. Maybe she would have the courage to tell Fakir what he had not.

In any case, it was probably better for Fakir to be near people he knew (or used to know) rather than a slightly dysfunctional drama kid with somewhat unpredictable powers. Besides, this girl seemed to know Fakir well. Ryan was willing to bet they were from the same dimension. And that was good, because that meant anything that needed to be explained could be explained in terms Fakir would probably understand.

That, of course, was always a good thing. And that was the thought on Ryan's mind as he locked the apartment door.

Ryan seemed okay to Fakir, really. He was an older boy and a little weird but he'd helped look for mom even if Duck said mom wasn't here, so...?

and duck was weird too, she said she knew him in the future (time travel, just like in The Time Machine!) but...

And the city was so BIG and strange. He'd been scared at first, but now he wanted to explore.

He fidgeted slightly, and debated writing. Maybe not now... maybe later.

Ryan gave Fakir what he hoped was a warm and cheerful smile. All those years of acting must have given him some semblance of control over his expression, right? Then again, everyone froze at times and everything could be misinterpreted. Ryan knew that from . . . Well, East High taught it's students more than just bookfacts.

Maybe that was just part of growing up though. Ryan tried not to dwell on the fact that no one he knew but Sharpay was here as they walked through the city - something about the way Fakir moved had told Ryan it was a good idea to take a slightly longer route to their destination. The kid was curious and Ryan saw no fault in that. Besides, it gave him time to reflect and pontificate. God, wasn't that such a Gabriella word? Pontificate.

How did he even know what that meant, anyways? Probably word of the day. There were some words that stuck with him from the sea of obscure and unnecessary words.

As a matter of habit, Ryan parted his lips to sing - only to close them again when he realised there was no telling what he might call into being. It was getting a little tiresome, having to watch what he sang. He was so used to just . . . Singing whenever he felt like it. Maybe this was the City's way of getting him to behave slightly more normally.

It didn't matter, they were at the door. Ryan rang the doorbell and waited. "Are you ready?"

The question was to fill the silence more than anything.

Duck ran over the door, narrowly avoiding tripping again. She swung open the door. There they were, Fakir (five-years-old) and a boy in a hat, probably the same age as Fakir was before this whole mess.

"Fakir! I'm so glad you're safe!" she hugged the little boy tightly, until it occurred to her that he didn't know her and that he probably thought it was weird. She withdrew, awkwardly, and turned to Ryan. "Thank you for taking care of him!" she said, bowing gratefully.

Fakir seemed a little surprised when she hugged him, but then hugged her back. She seemed nice, and pretty too, even though mother said he shouldn't talk to strangers but Ryan had been nice and why not Duck.

"Umm, bye bye Ryan," he said, waving. He wondered if he'd see the older boy again. He hoped so, Ryan seemed nice.

Ryan tipped his hat to Duck and smiled, "You're welcome Miss Duck. Bye Fakir - stay out of trouble, okay?"

It wasn't that Ryan didn't trust Duck to take good care of Fakir. It was more that he knew the city wasn't safe and there was no such thing as too much precaution. There really wasn't.

"Oh," Ryan stopped before he walked away, "and I'm pretty readily available if you two need anything. Don't hesitate to ask."

Miss Duck. Oh, my. "You don't have to call me 'miss'. Just Duck is fine. See you around, maybe?" she said. He seemed very polite and unassuming, but there was something about him that seemed familiar. Not in the sense that she'd met him or someone like him before, but more an attitude she recognized. She was curious about him.

"Thanks for the offer!" she called as he walked away. She waited until he was on the sidewalk, and then closed the door, leading Fakir inside.

"Thanks for coming," she told him. God, he was so young. And so good-natured! Could this really be Fakir? Was it possible she'd made a mistake?

"Umm, sure," said Fakir. "Are you really a duck?"

He walked around her, a serious expression on his face.

"'cause you don't really look like a duck. I think you're a swan."

"K-!" Duck turned an unbecoming shade of pink. "I, ah, eh, ee, er, I mean, ahahahahah, what are you talking about, how could I be anything other than a duck!!" she blurted, then slumped. "I mean, I really am a duck. I can show you if you like."

"I dunno," said Fakir. "Really you look like a girl..."

"Really?" he said, torn between skepticism and joy. "Please?"

"Okay." agreed Duck. She took a deep breath. "Quack." she said, and poof. Duck's clothes fall in a pile on the floor, and out pops a tiny yellow duckling.

"... wooooow!" said Fakir, his face lighting up. He walked over, bending down to look at the little duck.

"So you are a duck! It's just like a story!"

Then, without warning, he picked her up - gently, for a five year old - and held her in his arms, his face aglow with delight.

"I love birds, I think they're my favourite. Except crows... I don't like crows."

"Qua." Duck let herself get picked up. It felt good to be cuddled.

Well yes, she though. It was just like a story. That was how they had met in the first place. Because of that story, she could no longer be content to be a duck.

If it came to that, she didn't like crows either. Not after everything that had happened.

After a while, though, she wriggled out of his arms. She picked up her clothes and waddled to the bathroom, making sure the door was closed. The sound of running water could be heard, and then her voice.

"I'm sorry, I can't talk when I'm a duck." she said through the door as she wrestled into her tights.

"That makes sense," he said. "it's so cool that you can turn into a duck! I wish I could do something cool like that..."

She leaned against the door for a moment. "I think being able to write stories that come true is way more amazing." she had to remind herself that she was talking to a five-year-old, and not to her Fakir. She couldn't tell him, after all, about everything that would happen to him in his next ten years of life. "That's really all the power you need. Anyway I can't dance when I'm a duck. Well, I can, but it's not the same thing." she rambled as she finished dressing.

Finally, she opened the door.

"That's true! I wonder if I could write myself to be a duck? Did I write this place, Duck? And you dance...?" he asked, a cascade of questions.

"Eeeeeh-? S-slow down!" Duck exclaimed, overwhelmed by the rapid-fire inquisition. She managed to take a moment to compose herself. She had to be responsible and grown up for Fakir!

Deep breath. "Um, one." she began, assuming a serious expression, and counted on her fingers, "you probably could write yourself to be a duck, but I don't think it would be a good idea. Two: I'm pretty sure you didn't write this place, 'cuz it was here before you came along, and it's too huge and confusing."

She relaxed, the hard questions dealt with. "And three: I'm taking ballet lessons, but I'm not very good."

"Why wouldn't it be a good idea?" asked Fakir, but then he heard the bit about ballet.

Being a small boy, it had never occurred to him that ballet was girly or not for boys. He'd grown up with it, why should he think it girly?

"Will you dance for me, Duck?"

Duck was glad Fakir had got off the subject of writing. Not all his stories came true, she recalled, so maybe it was okay for him to write. Then again, better safe than sorry, she guessed.

Still, dancing. It was something she loved doing, but she was always acutely aware of her limitations in that area. This was different from in class, though, under the critical eyes of her teacher, and Fakir's inscrutable gaze.

"Okay. Just don't expect anything fancy." she agreed. She pushed the furniture in the living room around, to have some space. Then she stood in the middle of the room and assumed first position. She began the simple choreography she'd been practicing in class.

Fakir watched quietly, his eyes wide. It was simple, but he didn't care - he liked to watch people dance.

For a while the room was silent except for Duck's footsteps and her voice, counting the time under her breath. One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four... It was still hard work, and when she made a misstep she sometimes had trouble remembering the beat.

Finally, her awkward movements came to a halt. "How was that?" she asked finally.

Fakir, of course, was really too young to catch the difference, so he simply said "That was great!" with a smile. "You dance really well."

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short tag is short; sorry for the late.

'sokay

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