I M I T A T I O N;

                          "Some people have an alibi, I have a shadow self."

Ind. Buford Buzzard from the Ducktales franchise. Lit/Oc/Crossover friendly.

                                      Follows back from @josecarioca     Rules

Collin left a sealed envelope on Buford's desk, unsigned.

What an odd thing for someone to do? Who would even want to leave him a message in the first place? Also, what would they even need to tell him? He stared at the message in bewilderment for a few minutes before picking it up and reading over the contents.

Buford Buzzard received a melted Mars Bar from their secret admirer.

“Well....it’s the thought that counts...I can always stick it in the freezer and solidify it again...it won’t taste the same but it shouldn’t go to waste.”

Brycen had been occupied with looking at maps of F.O.W.L.’s layout, trying to memorize the place; he would have expected it to be less of a maze than S.H.U.S.H. since apparently he had a hand in it. Well, he sort of had a hand in it? Bradford had a hand in it… better not to think about that.

And then there was a voice and he jolted, head tilting up to look at the fellow clone. It took a moment for the words to seep into his distracted mind.

“If you want to be pedantic, I’m new everywhere. But, yes, I’m new here.”

The clone was approaching him, and he seemed to be studying some sort of piece of paper. Perhaps it was a map of some kind? Maybe it was something else important?  

Buford wouldn't look too into it for now.

Though his body faced forward, Steelbeak’s head was halfway turned, frustration strewn across his facial features. From the way he was huffing through clenched teeth, this was yet another one of his angry spells that only Bradford and Black Heron were able to bring about lately. With heavy stomps, he stormed right past Buford a few paces before stopping and facing forward again. It seemed that he was getting ready to quickly calm down, only for him to spin right around and hunch over, copying the stereotypical stature of an old man. “Dang it, Steelbeak. I’m so angry that my glasses can’t help me see obvious flaws in a plan, so you know what? I’ll just blame you when you had practically nothing to do with it!” For a man with a city accent, it was a pretty okay Bradford impression. 

“Hey, buzzard-head, why don’t ya actually look at what you’re doin’ next time, eh!? I got noooooo problem getting you laser eye surgery since ya can’t see squat.” He spat in his own voice. “Tch, walkin’ aspirin advertisement, I swear.” He motioned toward the door with an extended hand, shoulders raised. Upon taking a deep sigh and cracking his knuckles, he found his cool again and ran his palm through his comb. As anger no longer hindered his own eyesight, he finally noticed that he wasn’t the only occupant of the room, and so he stared down the other vulture.

“Whaddya lookin’ at, buddy?” His tone wasn’t exactly the most friendly, yet it didn’t exude offense, either. Frankly, Steelbeak didn’t know just what the power distance between himself and the other buzzards were, and he felt that asking Bradford would have to happen with good timing.

The clone watched as the rooster plodded into the room, right past him.  Buford merely stood stock-still and turned his head as he continued to watch the chicken's escapades.  He plodded around the room and mockingly imitated Bradford's posture.

He criticized Bradford and his inability to take criticism or listen to others at times, and Buford couldn't help but put a hand to his beak and snicker a little.

The situation shouldn't have been funny, but it was to him.  For a moment, he could be something more than a yes-man, bobble head who simply went along with Bradford's plans loyally.

He felt a small sense of freedom.

The more Steelbeak ranted about his boss, the more Buford found himself snickering louder. He tried to keep as quiet as he could.  If he started laughing, Steelbeak was going to probably take his anger out on him.

Just then, the rooster finally came out of his blind anger and noticed that he wasn't the only person in the room anymore. Buford blinked a little, looking like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

Talking wasn't his strong suit.

Holy balls.

I should...actually reply to stuff here.

buford's most beautiful feature is their small butt.