Chapter 1

[Ahiru, Fakir], others

Okay this is my first time writing fan fiction, and posting any type of writing for people to see. So I am going to be a bit shaky. Please be gentle with your criticisms. I tried. I really did. :3

Disclaimer: I do not own princess tutu or the characters in it. I own Nothing!
-

Fakir looked over what he had written and sighed. Something wasn't sitting right. He had been writing and thinking about this story for days, but it just wasn't quite right.

It was missing something, he knew that much, but what? What was it that this needed? Fakir gripped his hair as if to rip it out, and groaned.

"Quack!" Ahiru called.

Fakir ignored her. She was probably going to scold him, as mush as a duck could scold, for working so hard. That was not what he needed, right now he needed to concentrate.

"Quack! Qua-Qua! Quack! QUACK!"

Fakir turned, annoyed, "enough Ahiru, I-" he was cut off abruptly by a fluffy ball of fur launching itself at his desk. Surprised, Fakir couldn't do anything. Move out of the way, or stop the oncoming attack.

He heard the flapping of feathers, and suddenly a yellow figure was between the cat and his writing material.

"No Ahiru! Move!" Too late, Fakir spurred into motion. If there was a race between the cat and poor Fakir, the cat won by a landslide. The larger animal, seeing easier, live, prey in front of it, changed tactics. It wrapped its paws around Ahiru's small body and dragged her to the floor. Even thought there was a huge size difference, and weight, and power, and well everything, Ahiru held out for a little while.

But that would only last for a few seconds, and Fakir knew it. He moved to kick the cat, but stopped afraid of hitting Ahiru instead.

The cat was ruthless as it dug into her feathers, making gash wounds and drawing blood. Ahiru let out a quack of pain. Then, not to be defeated so easily, she clamped her bill down, hard, on the cats nose.

With a yowl of pain, the cat recoiled and rubbed its nose in surprise. Finally getting the opening he had been waiting for, Fakir grabbed the cat, flew for the window, and shoved the cat into the rose bushes. Ignoring the yowls of pain, Fakir firmly shut the window.

Fakir raced back to the small bleeding duckling, "Ahiru! Are you okay?"

She gave him a withering look. Like a combination between, no you imbecile and down worry 'bout little old me.

Oh Ahiru, why? The work wasn't that important." Fakir whispered in a small voice.

"Quack." was all she said. All she could say. She was a duck. Just a small tiny duck. She was also losing a lot of blood. For a small body, that small amount of blood would impact her greatly.

Fakir ran to his closet and pulled out a random shirt. Not caring what it was, or what it cost to buy it. The only thing that interested him was something to stop the bleeding. He didn't care if it was the most expensive article of clothing he owned. He could buy another one. He would buy the same shirt 18 different times, over and over again to save his precious friend's life.

He tore up the trips of cloth and bandaged the wounds tightly. It didn't seem to help much though. Fakir, not for the first time that morning, gripped his hair as if to pull it out.

This was to much to take. What was he going to do if he lost his best friend to a worthless cat and a mediocre story? Fakir picked up little, bandaged Ahiru and placed her on the pillow next to his where she would be more comfortable.

In the last fifteen minutes of this stressful morning, more things had happened than Fakir could comprehend. It felt like eight different lifetimes had passed right before his eyes.

Dejected, stressed, upset, and most of all worried, Fakir went to his desk and did the only thing he could think of doing. He was going to write. This time he wasn't going to make a bland, round- about story line. No.

The way Ahiru was looking, she wasn't going to even make it through the night. There was no point in denying it, she had just lost too much blood for such a small body. He might not be able to do anything for her physically either. As things were, all hope should have been lost. But hey, he was a writer. When a writer doesn't like how a story is going, do they just sit down, except it, and let the story end in an unsatisfactory way? Nope. They change it.

And that was just what Fakir was going to do. After all, he was a direct descendant of Drosselmeyer.

Well there you have it. Chapter 1. If you didn't like it, I am truly sorry. I just had this idea for a fan fiction and wanted to write it. I also didn't like the way Princess Tutu ended. I wanted something more. And when you want something written, you write it yourself. Mostly. It took me about a month to gather the courage to write this. If you did like it, I will try to post the next chapter really soon. Bare with me. Please leave a review, comment suggestion, what ever. Good or bad, it will be appreciated. Thank you for reading!

-525Clouds