Chapter Text
It was a beautiful morning, like all the mornings before and (probably) all the mornings after. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, pouring over a planner, which was being opened by a plush green wing (That looked more like a small hand covered in velvet).
“Look at that!“ The owner of the wing chirped. “It's cleaning day!”
The large red creature next to him slouched, the layers of string around his face drooping. “What is there to clean? The house looks fine to me….” He grumbled, taking a sip of his coffee, and returning his attention to the paper, which was really just a piece of paper, with scribbles and about 6 lines of legible text. Similar to this story, when it was first written.
The (duck/crow/creature?) huffed, folding his wings. “Shows how much you know-" He brushed down his impeccable suit, adjusting the pocket square. "-All the dirt is hidden in the corners and the cabinets as we speak. Anyway, we must; it’s in the planner - I don't want some little creature coming in to tell me how to clean my own house!”
That last part made the red guy reconsider. He downed the rest of his coffee, heaving up to his feet with a reluctant groan. “Ok, fine. I'll get started on the pots," He glanced at the fuse box, with a hidden frown at the thought of more 'creatures'. "Tell me when you need to start moving things,”
They both looked at their housemate, who had been staring into space. The red guy waved a hand Infront of his eyes, making him snap out of his daze. The explosion of blue on his head bobbled as he turned towards them. “What?”
The one who looks like an ambiguous, snappily dressed duck (Whom I’ll be calling Mr. Duck from now on), slid the planner across the table. He sprang from his seat, already opening the cleaning cabinet. “We’re cleaning today. I’ll go through the cabinets, that one’s doing the dishes, and you can mop up the floor!” (The floor was pristine.)
And they did. They worked through the kitchen, cleaning cobwebs, removing gunk, and scrubbing stains. Mr Duck was the main cleaner, delighting in the process of removing muck and the importance of his job. Don't get me started on the opportunity to boss the other two around. This really was his day. Sure, he was also the one doing most of the work, but he liked to work. It was the perfect distra- It was the perfect occupation, to chase boredom away. And it felt good to be competent. In idle thought popped into Ducks mind; If he just got to clean in the dodgy factory, would he have cared as much about leaving. Probably, it still isn't the same as inventing his own currency. The red thing was the muscle, moving big, heavy things out the way and letting Duck sit on his shoulders. The yellow bloke made himself useful, by holding the bin bag open and passing various sprays around. They made the kitchen sparkle, polished the living room to perfection, hoovered the bedroom and swept through the hallway. Even the red abomination had to admit that the results were satisfying. And the best part? Not a single object in their house had come to life.
They approached the bathroom, arguably the most treacherous room in the house. There was a lot to do. Mr. Duck started by letting an anti mould spray sit for 10 minutes. In the meantime, he went over the usual steps: wipe everything else down with an antibacterial spray. (The toilet was the worst part, but it had to be done. He placed a scented toilet cleaner in afterwards and switched rubber gloves.) It was a very satisfying process, he had to force himself to check that the Red Thing was mopping properly. (Surprisingly, he was. Could this day get better?) And just like that, it was time to wipe of the mould! They all stared in wonder, as it peeled of, showing the shiny tiles underneath. Mr. Duck gave the rag to the yellow fellow, who oversaw the hot water tub. All he needed to do was clear up the cobwebs, and dust the big light.
Once again, he stood on the red thing’s shoulders, starting to relax. He hated to admit it, but after so many hours of work, he was getting a bit tired. Especially since they skipped lunch. The red creature, Who I shall refer to as Mr. Red, inspected the medicine cabinet, checking the sell by dates on all the bottles and wiping the shelves underneath. Most of them had weird names like decongestant, antihistamine, and paracetamol but none of them are out of date.
As he was peering at the description of a bottle of cough syrup, a pair of beady eyes popped out of its head. This is when everything went tits up, which is good for you, because it means the plots beginning. He jerked backwards and launched the little bottle into the bath. Mr Duck, wobbled and tumbled through the air with a panicked squawk, which I didn't know ducks could do. He flapped furiously, but as we established earlier, his wings are just green, velvety hands, so any last-minute attempt at flying failed spectacularly. He landed in a bowl of soapy and very mucky water, gurgling and spluttering. The yellow guy, creatively named Mr. Yellow, scrambled to get a towel, as Mr Red crouched beside him in a panic, apologising profusely. Ironically, Mr. Red's apologies glided of him like water of a (Mr.) Duck.
He didn’t look at Mr. Red, not even when Mr. Yellow draped a towel around his shoulders. But he didn't shout. Which, If you know Mr. Duck, is really weird. He tends to be very expressive which can range from healthy communication, to tornados of verbal violence. But not this time. He stayed, tight lipped and trembling, training his vision onto the ground.
Normally, Mr. Red would have something to say about that, but nothing in their lives are normal and there were more important matters to attend to. The disgracefully sentient pill bottle launched itself to the side of the bath, locking Mr. Duck in an unblinking stare. “Silly duckie” It giggled, in a sickly-sweet voice, “Don’t play around in dirty water, that’s now you get poorly! I think it's time to teach you all about germs…”
Mr Red's shoulders slumped, and Mr Yellow stared gormlessly, already dissociating. Mr. Duck froze, a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd done everything right. He was so sure that today, it just wouldn't happen. That they'd be left alone. But no. Now and forever, there was some little cunt trying to teach them a lesson. And once again, the example will be made out of him.
“Germs are little monsters that steal your body and suck it dry. Have you ever had a virus? The HPAI is a strain of influenza that can affect birds and humans!”
Mr Duck hid further into his blanket as the pill prattled on, telling them - in grotesque detail - about how cells in the body can die trying to fight the pathogens. (Whatever that meant?) And how fevers, coughing and mucus aways the immune system fight the virus. But sometimes that doesn't work, and the virus sucks the nutrients out of the body, killing the host.
‘What’s a fever?’ Duck wondered, as an unpleasant burning sensation filled his head. How did things to downhill so quickly? He squeezed his eyes shut, in the pathetic hope that his was just a dream. A horde of sticky, spikey dickheads had other plans though, swarming towards him. He scrambled backwards with a whimper (that he hope nobody heard). The burning was only getting worse, and a heaviness creeped into his body, although he willed himself to get up, he could only curl further into his towel. And the next thing he knew, he was tossed over a big, red shoulder. The sudden movement made his chest tighten, and a steady, pounding headache made it hard to keep his eyes open. The little weirdos looked further away now; Mr. Duck regarded them with a morbid curiosity, his cheek resting on the warm felt.
Mr Red grabbed the cleaning spray, squirting it at the little creatures. The sizzle of rising steam mixed into their screams, melting into faint squeaks until there was nothing left but a gooey puddle. Mr Yellow mopped the last of the gloop and poured the murky water down the drain. Mr Red kept Mr Duck on his shoulder, Mr duck had gone still. All the fiddly bits had been dealt with, so Mr. Red make sure to re-spray every surface he could find and chucked the old, soiled cloth into the bin where it belonged. The pill bottle looked as though it was going to speak, but it never got the chance. Mr. Red chucked it onto the floor and stomped hard. It fell silent, crumpled on the floor. And then he stomped again. And again. And again. He stopped for a minute to catch his breath, and calmly continued cleaning, Mr. Duck draped over his shoulder like a towel.
Mr Yellow occasionally glanced at Mr Duck, who was silently clinging to Mr Red. Mr Duck closed his eyes, replaying the incident in his mind. He was having such a good day. He wrinkled his beak at the smell radiating from his cold, yet only burning wet body. He wasn't sure if he was trembling from embarrassment, anger, or if it was just freezing. No - it couldn't be freezing, because the tubes between his beak in his brain were on fire. He must have inhaled too many chemicals; he’ll feel better after some fresh air. He took a breath, willing his body to work. Something familiar came over him. A strange calmness, a feeling of capability rushed through him. After a minute, he found himself able to climb. Mr. Red froze at the sudden movement, instantly manoeuvring himself to the ground (Lest another fall occurred).
Mr. Duck steadied himself on the floor, looking around the bathroom. There was an awkward silence. Mr. Red was the first to break it. “Are you OK?”
“Oh yes, quiet,” Mr Duck lied blatantly. He wiggled his toes, as if he could expel the shivers running through him. “I just need a hot bath and a little sit outside, to get this disgusting gunk off me.”
He slipped the towel from his shoulders and threw it the hamper and buttoning his blazer. Mr. Red immediately averted his gaze, giving a thumbs up. He gestured at Mr Yellow to fetch a clean towel and turned the water taps on, bumbling out of the bathroom with all the cleaning supplies.
Alone at last, Mr Duck sighed and flung the rest of his clothing into the hamper. He gazed up at the medicine he couldn’t reach and didn’t know how to use.
Not that he needed it, of course.