Something About Aldo
Forest Glenny, '03
PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Sitting Ducks. If you haven't watched this show, check your TV listings and WATCH IT! It's really very good.
Notes: Uhm... I think this is the first Sitting Ducks fanfiction ever. I mean, really, I'm not surprised. I'm such a loser. This is just a little driblet I wrote at midnight last night. Hope you enjoy!
There's something strangely different about Aldo.
And it isn't that he's an alligator, either. He really is more like a duck now, actually. He eats duck food, though he's never gotten over his love of spicy food. He has duck mannerisms - the first time he unintentionally said he was going to Cecil for a beak adjustment, Bev couldn't stop laughing for a week. He plays duck games like Squatto. He even smells like a duck, for crying out loud - not the sick smell of cooked bird, but the clean scent of feathers and toothless mouths.
Yes, there's something about Aldo.
He smiles a lot. And it's different than a duck smile. He has teeth to proudly display. I love his teeth, maybe because I don't have any. He is strangely self conscious of them. For the first few months of his visits to Ducktown, he wouldn't smile fully. I think he didn't want to scare anyone away.
Aldo is so very sweet, really. He makes mistakes like the rest of us, but he isn't afraid to apologize... though, I do have to drag it out of him, sometimes. He never lords his power over me. He helps himself to my food but leaves some for me, despite his always voracious appetite. He listens to my music, and he endures my cleaning-turned-rock sessions with good grace. He only pokes fun at me once in a while, always wearing a smile that says 'I don't really mean that'.
For a gator, it surprised me that he could be such a great friend. He doesn't mind having a milkshake with me at the Decoy. He doesn't mind staying home and just watching TV together. He doesn't mind the couch to sleep on, though he knows I would willingly give up my bed once in a while.
He gets up from the aforementioned sofa, stretches, walks into the kitchen. I assume he is getting a snack.
There is a worn patch on his side of the sofa, a place where his scalyness has worn away the color in the cushion, almost the point of stuffing coming through. If I have company coming over, I'll turn the pillow over, but otherwise, it serves as a nice reminder of my best friend.
Aldo sits back down. "I'm going to get a drink," I say, realizing I was staring at his lap with a distant grin on my face. Before I can stand, however, a can lands in my hands, and it's my favorite drink. He pops open his own, grins, and we sit back to watch the fish.