There is, actually, someone in the Las Nevadas restaurant this morning. He’s sitting at a table and nursing a glass of brandy. (He blames Wilbur fucking Soot.)

When the other Quackity enters, he sets it down and stands up. Square shoulders, assertive, just this side of threatening. 

“What are you doing here? Restaurant’s not open yet.”

"Grabbing food? I'm told restaurants are traditional for the purpose." The book is in his inventory, now; his hands are in his jacket pockets.

“You came to buy a burger? …Did Wilbur send you.” Fuck, he has a headache. 

"I do sometimes do things without Wilbur being involved, funnily enough. I was hungry, I was in the area." 

…He picks the brandy back up, tilts it back, and then sets the empty glass down. He does not want to deal with this right now. Unfortunately, the world does not care what he wants.

“Lose it with the attitude, sugar pumpkin. You want a burger, fine, I get it, I’ll make you a fucking burger.”

Wow, he hasn't heard that particular petname in a while. Sounds weird as hell in a different voice. He sits down.

"You call everyone that? Or am I special?"

He goes behind the counter to get a burger, throws it in the furnace to heat it up. “I told you to lose the fucking attitude.”

'And I asked you if I was special' runs headlong into 'dude, if you're going to order me around at least pull my hair and call me pretty,' and the ensuing crash pulls down 'are you seriously already drinking, it's not even ten AM' along with it. This is probably for the best because none of those are a good idea to say right now, or for that matter at any other time. 

"Sure, man." 

The agreement is not particularly satisfying. He takes the burger out, puts it between two pieces of bread, and walks over to put it in front of the other Quackity before stopping at the last second. “Do you even have anything to pay with? I’m not giving you shit just for hanging around having a fat ass.”

"I take it you don't take debit, then? I don't know what you use for money but you're the only one here who's mentioned my ass." 

“Diamonds if you have them, barter if you don’t.”

"I do not have diamonds. I have a moderately absurd amount of cloth and bamboo. Also some logs." 

…Sigh. It’s already made. “Next one’s a diamond, got it?” He considers making a comment about Wilbur but then reconsiders with the knowledge that the bastard would definitely enjoy it way too much. 

Next one is stolen. "Got it," he says instead of that. 

He eats. It's edible. He's mostly not thinking about the food, though-- is other-Quackity imitating Schlatt on purpose? He's gotta be, right? 

“Glad to hear it.” He pours himself another drink, mostly so he has something to sip at while the other Quackity eats but a little bit to take the edge off the whole situation. 

Q... maybe does not succeed all the way at keeping his face neutral. Is this idiot trying to give himself cirrhosis. 

“What is it? Got a problem?”

"Do you? It's not even ten." 

“I had a long night, sweetheart.” (He doesn’t actually seem drunk, though; this can’t be that uncommon for him.)

"Sure, babe." 

He pushes the drink away rather than breaking it over the other Quackity’s head. It takes more effort than it ought to. “Aw, little Quackity’s worried about me? What are you gonna do? Gonna cry about it?”

Tiny, barely-there wince. 

The thing is, there's a script for this interaction. He knows how this conversation goes; he's had it dozens of times, although the man who usually feeds him lines is dead now. Gonna cry about it is something he's heard, under varying circumstances but none of them were good. It's something he's said, under varying circumstances but none of them were good. 

If he were more scared, maybe he'd fall back on the script. If yesterday had gone worse, maybe he'd fall back on the script. Falling into long-scripted patterns is easy; he does it all the time. But yesterday was good, and he isn't scared, he's annoyed.

"Again, you do this to everyone, or am I just that special?" 

Quackity saw that wince. That’s satisfying, the way that sure, man hadn’t been. “What, you want me to call you a special little princess? Want me to say oooh, Quackity, you’re so perfect and beautiful, you and your fat ass can break in any time you like?”

You're the one who left the door unlocked, dude. "I'm just saying, if you're gonna act like our ex you could at least pull my hair about it." 

Quackity smiles, then gives a little laugh, and then he's standing up and walking over to the other Quackity and dragging him out of his seat by his hair.

"Better?"