[PRP] BAWK!!! [Scrambled/King Cock]

[Ruriska]

"BAWK! BAWK BAWK!"

Scrambled was playing her favourite game. It was her 'pretend to be a chicken' game and she played it most days, all alone, in whatever patch of dirt was closest. She would bawk and peck at the ground with her 'beak' and sometimes, if an unlucky bug crossed her path, she would have a snack.

She wasn't exactly a fan of eating bugs but it was what chickens did and if she was playing chicken pretend then she had to do it right.

[Gl!tch~]

One could not say there was much glory to running a chicken daycare, but someone had to do it as the hen craze continued to take over Phonyland. And if King couldn't be a big (or average-sized) Phony, he might as well make up for it by having a big name. After all, when there was no competition, no one could question your reign. It helped when he might as well be part chicken. If one squinted, it almost sounded like his circumstance was a very elaborate joke.

But for King, his job, nay, career was perfectly serious. Although his days were usually predictable to the point of being easy. Much like daycare for sentient things, there was a schedule, and hens followed it pretty well. And like anything sent to a daycare, hens were also creatures of habit. Very exploitable. Being simply food-motivated, also exploitable.

It was just after lunch, which meant naptime, which meant a break for the King.

He gave his Princess (found curled up by Mr. T as usual) one last affectionate pet before leaving the coop.

Then he heard clucking. Somewhere outside of the coop. But the coop was freshly locked, and every hen was accounted for. He had a clipboard. Its roster was full of checkmarks. There shouldn't be any fair-weather fowl still milling about! He had one job! If he couldn't trust the clipboard, much less his flock, then who could he trust?

King Cock squinted. He took then flight to search the grounds of his quaint little establishment. A big leg up over chickens, actually being able to maintain flight the way he could. There would be way more...escapees...on average otherwise.

@Ruriska

[Ruriska]

Scrambled pecked and scratched, covering herself in dirt and dust and twigs, all in her pursuit of being the perfect pretend chicken.

Though if she had known - oh, if she'd had even the slightest inkling -  that there was a place nearby that contained actual real life chickens, Scrambled would not have been able to rest until she was in their presence.

But for now, she continued to peck. "Bawk, bawk, bawk!" She said merrily, timing each 'bawk' with a nose smoosh into the ground. It was starting to hurt a bit but pain was irrelevant. There was only chicken.

@Gl!tch~

[Gl!tch~]

He followed the squawks. As he listened to each crowing, the more he considered how off they sounded. High-pitched, yes, but almost...child-like, as well.

Something small and pink (good lord he hoped it wasn't plucked) passed under his gaze.

All the wrong shapes to be a hen, all the right shapes to be a Phony. King proceeded to land not too far off.

He watched on for a little bit, witnessing the foal get dirtier as she smashed her face on the ground and clucked.

"Uh huh."

Foalhood memories flooded back.

Apparently they still taught children that they could be anything, even livestock, if they really, really wanted.

"Uh...huh. Right."

King cleared. "Hey, sugar, are your...er...minders...around?"

He scanned the area real quick for anyone who might claim the child on his lawn.

Did this poor thing's parents drop and dash without reading the sign?

@Ruriska

[Ruriska]

"Bawk?" clucked the pink-plucked chicken phony, her head jerking up and around. Her beady dark eyes came to rest upon King Cock. There she froze, staring, staring, staaaaaaring, until a thought formed in her small chicken-sized brain.

"A BIG COCK!" She screamed, forgetting that hens did not use words but too delighted to care. She scrambled, fell on her face, tripped and rolled, all in one motion, up and over towards King Cock as if he was the most amazing, brilliant, wonderful thing she had ever seen.

Which he was.

Scrambled had imprinted upon him immediately.

Like a chick just out of its egg.

"Bawk, bawk, bawk!" She circled him excitedly, pecking at him with her nose wherever she could reach.

@Gl!tch~

[Gl!tch~]

It was the eyes that really got to him. Little specks that drilled into his person. Never had he seen such small, emotionless eyes on a fellow Phony's face before. They were quite familiar, but in the wrong place. 'Uncanny' was the word.

The filly's yell made him jump, more out of shock than anything else. "A-ah. So you can talk..." he observed while the pink little foal fell over herself to run over to him.

And then she was smacking her face all over his knees. "Ow. Ow. Ow." King flicked his tail in irritation.

He wouldn't act on it, much like how he didn't start throwing hens around when they decided to be especially misbehaved. But he definitely wanted to pick Scrambled up, if only so she couldn't peck at him anymore.

"Okay, sweetie," he stated between crows of pain, " You've got some real talent in the pecking department. But I would, uh, really appreciate it if you told me where your mother hen or father rooster or whoever is right now."

@Ruriska

[Ruriska]

Scrambled stopped pecking and stared up at King Cock with those beady little eyes, expression completely unreadable and alien. She did not blink, she only stared; her thoughts moving like molasses through her mind.

She could speak, though her vocabulary was limited to various chicken related things and it took time for her to decide which one she needed for any given situation. Scrambled gave a soft 'bawk' as she tilted her head and thought.

"Father rooster," she said, repeating his words. Oh she liked those!

"Father rooster!"

And as she said it, she was still staring at him.

"I love Father Rooster!"

She finally disengaged her pinpoint stare and rubbed her head lovingly against his leg.

@Gl!tch~

[Gl!tch~]

King Cock raised a hoof to rub his face. He let out a big, long sigh. The kid was certainly...dedicated.

And no responsible adults had come running during all the clucking and yelling about cocks. So this was his problem for now. At least she had stopped rolling around in the dirt.

"Guess we'll have to call admin services..." King mumbled to himself, then exhaled again.

"Oookay, kiddo," he said, at a regular volume now. "Let's, uh...slow down. Take this one step at a time. You like eggs?"

If he had to choose between being the guy who had a random child playing chicken in his lawn, and being the guy who wasn't, well. There was some PR he didn't feel ready to try.

"I can make you eggs and..." Coffee? Did he drink coffee as a colt? No. That couldn't be right. Was it...? Oh yeah. "Milk. Very good, healthy, won't-give-you-the-shakes milk. Uh-huh."

@Ruriska

[Ruriska]

At the mention of food, Scrambled eyes widened with delight (not that you could tell) and she slammed her rump on the ground, tilted her head up and stared at him expectantly. She'd never actually tried eggs or milk before, just a lot of random bugs and sometimes when she wandered down to where all the Phonies were eating they gave her a funny look and a plate of yummy brown things they called nuggets.

"Hungry bawk!" She yelled.

@Gl!tch~

[Gl!tch~]

"Okay! Good!" he yelled back, trying to match her energy. Then King returned to his usual volume. "But we don't cluck loudly in the coop, okay?"

The King wasn't sure how much yelling he would be able to stand, and he needed to get the filly to form coherent sentences. There had to be a way to do so without getting tinnitus.

"Let's get you some grub, okay, sweetheart?" he asked, motioning towards the door.

@Ruriska

[Ruriska]

Scrambled just blinked at him and then her brain cells chose to exert some effort and she gave a very soft, "bawk."

She could be quiet, she was a good chicken.

At the mention of grub, her nose wrinkled but she obediently followed his lead. Grubs weren't her favourite (they were really squishy) but if that's what he was offering she would do a great job at pecking it up.

@Gl!tch~

[Gl!tch~]

"Good girl," he praised. King led her into the daycare and shut the door behind them. "Make yourself at home, darlin'."

The pegasus cantered to the kitchen, pulled some things from here and there, and started cooking up some eggs. He even let the radio play an old crooner to fill any lingering silence.

"So," King said after a few minutes, "You got a name, kid? And how do you like your eggs?"

@Ruriska

[Ruriska]

"Home?" Scrambled echoed, tottering into the daycare and standing in the middle of the room, legs splayed. Home was somewhere you stayed for a long time and got to sleep in every night all warm and cozy. There was always food and blankets and cuddles.

That's what she had learned from staring through windows at night.

With a high-pitched 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeei' she skittered over to him, nearly tripping over her own hooves just to reach his side and bounce excitedly. "I am at home!" She yelled, deciding that was enough chicken game for today.

"Scrambled!" She answered, one or both questions, who knew.

@Gl!tch~

[Gl!tch~]

King sighed. The kid's indoor voice could use some work. Still, it was hard to berate her for being excited. Though he really, really didn't know what to do about her asserting she was home.

He couldn't help but to think about what would happen if she turned out to be one of the many foals who didn't have parents, or a stable to go to. Then what? Toss her back on the street? Just to find her on the lawn again later? Or, worse, to never see her again? And whatever happened was because he couldn't be bothered?

If he kept staring in the middle distance about this, the eggs would burn.

"Scrambled, got it."

The pegasus did the rest of the cooking in relative silence. He clung to the routine of it.

His life was all about that; doing one thing resulted in another. There were steps, protocols, guidelines, whatever you wanted to call it.

His business was very rote. He took chickens, he cared for them in very precise steps, he gave them back.

And now there was a child in his care. Who very well could be there after hours, or even beyond that.

He didn't have to make a decision on the spot, he knew that much, but he couldn't ignore the potential gravity of the situation.

All he could do was keep trying to make her talk.

The eggs went onto a plate, then onto the table.

"There's salt, pepper, ketchup. Whatever you want to put on 'em."

King himself definitely needed some coffee.

@Ruriska

[Ruriska]

Scrambled was surprisingly quiet during the cooking process. As he worked in thoughtful silence, she sat at his hooves, watching his every movement curiously and simply waiting for her meal. It was nice here, she had decided.

It felt safe.

When he took the eggs, smelling oh so delicious, over to the table, Scrambled followed. She clambered up onto the chair then stood up on it, back hooves on the chair, the other two planted firmly on the table to lean over her meal.

The plate was full of golden mushies! Not a worm in sight!

She went in head first, got a mouth full of egg and then immediately spit it out again with a regretful 'ow!'. She looked at him, her new father figure, with her tiny tiny eyes, with tiny tiny tears at the corners and mumbled a mournful, "too hot."

@Gl!tch~