Chapter Three: Setting His Gaze
Wildwing never did press Duke any more as to where he was the night a prized ruby was stolen by Falcone. And that was just fine with Duke—he wasn't ready to tell his team, anyways. Ever since he had wielded the Star Sword to defeat Asteroth once and for all, an unexplainable darkness began to consume Duke's mind. He was having nightmares about falling off of the red dragon; being run through by his own saber; and also, visions of his son, Liam, in the Dark World of Asteroth's realm. He wasn't trying to give any credence to his dreams or visions, but they were truly getting to him. Finally, Duke decided to head to one of his favorite local bars on that fateful night of the robbery.
Duke's stand-by bar, aptly named The Ugly Duckling, was on the city's Westside, where the streets and clubs were always full of artists, motely musicians, and wannabe Hollywood actors. In a sense, these humans reminded Duke of the type that where bound to the Brotherhood of the Blade—outcasts, rejects, rebels—but visionaries all the same. Besides, in this part of town, a grey mallard could blend in surprising well compared to some of the human lifeforms roaming Anaheim's streets at night.
Surely, Duke did feel comfortable among fellow outcasts; however, he also knew that these types of humans were disposed to notions of government conspiracy, mystics, and of course, alien sightings. These credulous folk often gave Duke decent insights into strange occurrences that might be linked to Dragaunus's whereabouts. Unfortunately, it was sometimes difficult to distinguish between actual sightings from alcohol or drug induced hallucinatory rants.
When Duke approached the Ugly Duckling Bar and Disco, he looked up dejectedly at the fading, but flashing neon signage. Running his fingers through his bushy hair one last time, he glanced at the bouncer who nodded once and stepped aside to allow Duke to pass. Once inside, the first thing he noticed was the grinding and screeching techno music. Its off beats and sharp, out of place notes made his highly sensitive ears ring and ache. However, Duke knew with a couple of bourbons in his belly, the music would slowly fade into the background of his mind and he could start to listen in on night's eccentric conversations.
At the bar, Duke asked for his usual bourbon neat and began to watch the despondent crowd swaying with hypnotic fashion in what appeared to be dance-like motions. He had to smirk, for back on Puckworld, the ducks there really knew how to dance. Entire nights at the clubs would be spent in dance competitions—the last one still standing would win a grand prize.
As Duke watched on, a young woman approached the bar next to him dressed in a Rolling Stones t-shirt and a heavy, kilt-like skirt. She had big, black, heavy boots on and ripped tights that revealed elegant, flowery tattoos through the holes. Her hair was long and black, flowing all the way down to the small of her back and her eyebrows were bushy and un-plucked. Her cheeks were full of freckles and her lips were painted the darkest shade of cheap red lipstick one could buy at a Walgreens. She looked over at Duke and managed a whole-hearted smile that exposed big, bright teeth.
He raised his glass of bourbon back in greeting and muttered a, "Hello, sweetheart."
"Hey," she replied.
"You new here?" he asked.
"Yeah, just moved here from the Midwest," she said.
"Ah, farm girl, eh?"
"No! I just graduated from art school! I'm a contract artist at the amusement park across the freeway," the girl shouted over the loud, out-of-tune music.
"I'm a bit of an art critic and collector myself," Duke said.
"Cool," was all she managed to say before the bar tender handed her a drink and she began to dig through her pockets for money to pay with.
"Nah, sweetheart, allow me," Duke said, looking up at the bar tender and nodding. The bar tender also nodded back and walked away.
"You didn't have to do that," the gothic little human said.
"Yeah, well, I thought it would be nice, since you smiled and all."
The girl smirked and took a sip of her drink and then yelled, "So! An outer-space, hockey-playing duck?!"
"That's me! Duke l'Orange, at your service!" Duke screamed back.
"I'm not used to bars this loud!" she said.
"Welcome to California, angel!" Duke pointed to the back of the bar and asked, "You want to get a table in the back? It's a little quieter over there!"
"Sure!" she said, and took another sip of her drink before they got up from the bar and began to make their way through the maze of slow moving, methodic punks. Once they made it to the back, Duke set his drink on the table and pulled out a chair for the girl to sit in. She smiled that toothy grin and sat-her back straight as a rail as Duke pushed the chair in from behind. He then sat across from her and looked out one last time at the crowd before settling his gaze on her with his one good eye.
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