"But I will still remember the happiness we've known. And though I may be alone, I'm not..."
Alone
A Princess Tutu fanfic by Klondike Aura
Duck sometimes misses being a girl.
Sure, being a duck is plenty easy. All you really need is a pond and you're pretty much set for life. Being human is more complicated, with homes and society and goals and everything else that humans decide to put on themselves.
But she will give them this: they had something special on their hands when they came up with dancing.
It's been a while, she doesn't know how long. Long enough to get used to having webbed feet and wings all the time. But she hasn't forgotten. She won't forget.
She can hear it in her ears, though there is no orchestra. She is still clumsy on land yet being in her true form provides a grace that her human self lacked. She's so caught up in her prologue that she doesn't notice when someone joins her. The soft chuckle from her audience goes unheeded.
It is a funny thought, the duck playing the role of the girl.
Duck is suitably surprised when she's suddenly scooped up. She quacks and briefly wriggles before she catches the scent and sight of the blue school jacket and the tip of her wing brushes over a familiar scar on the hand holding her.
"Moron," Fakir murmurs. "You got to the part when Rothbart shows up. What did you expect me to do?"
She gives him a look that plainly says, 'Well, you sure can't be Siegfried.'
"And you're no Odette," he answers her.
Her feathers ruffle at that. But when he remains still, she quacks at him to get on with it before they miss their cue.
Fakir then moves with false roughness, miming his half of the struggle while Duck 'attempts' to get away. When the transformation is complete, she flutters back down to the ground and finishes her part of the prologue.
"Rats, it didn't work," her partner half-jokes.
She rolls her eyes at him. And when it's apparent that he's done dancing for now, she hops into the pond.
"You would have us go through the entire ballet, wouldn't you?" Fakir asks, taking his spot on the dock, picking up the quill and parchment he had set down before joining her.
Duck quacks, unsure if she would go that far but knowing that them dancing a bit more together would have been nice.
"A two-dancer production of Swan Lake," he muses. "That truly is a featherbrained idea."
Duck huffs and takes off from the water. Right before she lands, she turns a peculiar pirouette on the surface of the pond, her wing angled so she sends a spray of water up to Fakir.
Satisfied with his sogginess, she continues her solo performance where he can't follow.