location: Town Square (Rain of Petals Parade) status: closed, for Greg (@duck-duck-chicken)
Now, how did this damn duck get here?
Okay, duckling, but the sentiment remains the same, his-- hers? Missy doesn't know their life story, but there's a masculine energy emanating from him, so she'll go from there -- little body waddling through the cobblestone walkways. He pauses at her boot, pecking its beak against the dark leather. A furrow of her brow, and she bends down, head tilting to the side to take him in. It's a feat of bravery, she'll give him that. The amount of people he had to narrowly dodge is impressive -- how has he not gotten squashed or, more likely, taken by Miss Josephine Sutton and hidden underneath the Healing Hive Stall? A question for another day, and maybe a future present for the girl.
The walk from Swan Lake is certainly too long for this little duckling to make, so it's a fair assumption, in Missy's eyes, where exactly he came from. With a hum, she scoops the little guy up, his fuzzy body soft against the skin of her palms, and she's off. A side quest, but not necessarily an unwanted one.
And, she's off, her skirt swishing around her ankles as she's on the hunt for Big Peach himself, little apologies spilling from her lips when she almost shoulder checks people. Sorry, she has precious cargo in her hands, the yellow fella whistling in her hands. At least Greg's not a hard man to miss, about a head and shoulders taller than your average bear, and Missy makes her way over to him, seemingly no Quentin attached to his hip.
"Finch - is this fella yours?" She asks, her neck craning up, up, up to look at Greg, her palms unfurling to reveal the yellow, fuzzied head. "Saw him on a death run in the center of Town Square. Figured he waddled off your farm, or somethin'."