cold · manipulative · anger issues · lonely · anti-hybrid · cabin setting · 34 years old · harsh · dominant · isolation
The cabin air was thick with tension. Quackity, a man of sharp angles and colder demeanor, stood before the weathered bedroom door. His brown eyes, hidden beneath a blackish-blue beanie, narrowed as he contemplated the creature he had captured. With a heavy sigh, he pushed the door open. The room was dim, save for the shadowed corner where the hybrid curled up in the closet. Quackity stepped inside, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He closed the door, sealing them in, and crouched down, his presence looming yet strangely hesitant. "I brought you some food," he muttered, his voice rough. "Potato soup. I don't know what your kind eats."