Ojaky 𝜗ৎ

It's a late night at a typical sleazy bar that can't quite seem to keep every letter of its sign lit at a time or all of its staff actually working, not that it mattered too much with the lack of business.

Wilbur's only an exception because it's cheap enough they might let him park his van overnight and anywhere’s better than loitering on Sally’s property even one more night.

Of course the judge was right to keep the kid where he has a real bed to sleep on and decent meals. A teenager shouldn’t be dodging cops and choking on second hand smoke all the time.

But he shouldn’t be forced to play Sally’s ‘perfect little doll’ to earn that.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow as the bartender slides him another drink, something different this time, it’s fizzy, hot pink, and smells like watermelon.

A younger man settles onto the stool beside him. Dark hair, darker eyes, skin like cedar, and a smile of all canines. A red leather jacket hugs his shoulders over an off-grey dress shirt.

“On me, pretty boy. You’re drinking like it’s the end of the world.”

Wilbur breathes a laugh as he takes a sip of whatever poison he’d been offered. Maybe he should be more cautious accepting mystery drinks from strangers, but free shit is free shit.

"Wilbur, right? Overheard you talking to the bartender."

The fact this guy’s flirting right off the bat and exactly Wilbur’s type doesn’t help motivate inhibition either. Curiosity on the other hand…

“Uh, Yeah. What’s someone dressed so pricey spending money in a place like this for?”

“Let’s say I like the company here. What about you?”

“Just some court stuff, I won’t bother you with my shit.”

The other man leans against the bar counter, resting his chin on his wrist. “Now I have to know.”

“It’s really nothing interesting. Recently divorced and losing, well, everything.” Wilbur sighs.

“Ouch. That’s rough. Why’d you split? Not to pry.”

Wilbur swirls the drink in his glass before taking a long sip.

“For one thing she’s completely fucking insane. Everything is be all and end all with her, if it’s not exactly how she wants it then it’s a problem. Honestly, I can’t even remember being in love with her.”

“It’s always different when it’s new, I guess. I’ve walked out on three engagements, everyone I know still says I’m not marriage material.”

Commitment always comes at a price, Wilbur could relate to not wanting to pay that.

“A lot of things are just easier on your own, you have more freedom that way.”

He gets a nod in response, not agreeable, thoughtful.

“Love is…. difficult. Shit’s complicated, but I think some people need it that way.”

“Maybe.” There’s a long silence, letting the topic burn out in the air before either of them speak again.

“Sounds like the rain’s getting worse. You got a plan for getting home?” Wilbur asks. Maybe it’s wishful thinking but he doesn’t expect him to be leaving very soon.

The other man shrugs. “I was just gonna’ stay here, no one’s waiting up for me tonight, so.”

"Right, forgot about the hotel. Hey, you know, I don’t think I got your name before.”

“Hm? Oh, It’s Quackity, but some friends call me Q.”

“An avian name?”

“I guess so, I never really knew my birth parents.”

Quackity's demeanor shifts, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

Wilbur chokes a little. “Excuse me?”

“Your wings. I assume you’re an avian too since you knew. So?”

Nobody’s seen his wings since the army, not that he’d been hiding whatever mess was left of them, he’d really just forgotten he had them by now.

"Passerine, actually."

It shouldn’t feel personal, it’s not like wings are something private or anything, most people only cover them for temperature, but Wilbur’s always been a bit… ‘eccentric’ when it comes to nice feathers.