According to the traffic breakdown on FF.net, one of you guys is polish, one is from Norway, and one is from the Netherlands Antilles. Also, 8 Americans, one of which is probably me.
So yeah. 10 readers. Pretty good for a final score.
Edit: And now someone from Mexico. Good show!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
It lives there, spell-checked, but still completely un-edited. Enjoy killing your eyes by reading black text on white background.
It lives there, spell-checked, but still completely un-edited. Enjoy killing your eyes by reading black text on white background.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Word count: 122,074
Character count (no spaces): 559,950
Page count: 267
Readers: At least four. Maybe more.
Time Frame: May, 29 '09 - July, 18 '09
Would you have won Nanowrimo?: Yes. Twice. Once for June and once for July.
THANKS FOR PLAYING
Word count: 122,074
Character count (no spaces): 559,950
Page count: 267
Readers: At least four. Maybe more.
Time Frame: May, 29 '09 - July, 18 '09
Would you have won Nanowrimo?: Yes. Twice. Once for June and once for July.
THANKS FOR PLAYING
BAM! There you go. For better or for worse Final Chapter ho! Make sure to drink your ovaltine.
Once again, a reminder, this is fresh, Grade A unabridged me writing here, no editor nor spellcheck darkening my Word document. If you see something that doesn't parse, be sure to inform me.
Watch Fanfiction.net for a full archive, and for god's sake someone make a page on TVtropes. I've been wanting to for the longest time, but how utterly tasteless would that be, to make a page about my own stupid fanfic? Someone else do it or it won't get done.
Anyway. It's over! Hooray! or boo. Whichever. Enjoy!
Scrooge McDuck stood, young, healthy, strong, in tanned leather hides and with bandages wrapped 'round his webbed feet instead of shoes. He stood in the driving snow of the Yukon, saying nothing, just looking upon the sight he beheld. He held the Goose Egg nugget in his hands and held it up.
Two white-feathered hands appeared, and took the nugget from the man's hands. They were dressed in blue-accented khakis, topped with a pith helmet. He stood as he held the gift from his uncle, in the jungle of India, near the mountain range. As he stood, the giant gold nugget began to turn to dust in his hands, gold dust, and he smiled as the euphoria of discovery came upon him.
He looked up at his Uncle who was already disappearing over the horizon, off towards the pristine splendor of White Agony Creek, arm in arm with a gilt goddess with hair that was gold and jewels of gold and a dress that shone in the light like gold.
With a gasp, Dewey woke and tried to sit up. The pain in his chest, however, caused him to cry out, before he laid back, trying to will away the ache by staying perfectly still.
"Good. You're awake," said a familiar voice.
Dewey looked over and saw, in Sailor uniform, and with both eyes, although one was strangely inert, his Uncle Donald, who had bandages wrapped over his own stomach.
"Uncle Donald," Dewey said, his throat dry, "Wha-?"
"We're back in Duckburg. It's been two days since we were shot."
"Dead. S.H.U.S.H wasn't too pleased with that little stunt we pulled, but after hearing the recorded confession, well..."
"We're... They found us...?"
"Innocent. You've been reinstated as CEO of McDuck Enterprises, with apologies from the board of directors."
"But...?" Dewey's hand traveled up and hovered over his heart. He felt bandages underneath.
His head turned in response to a strange metallic clink. Donald had dropped on the hospital end-table a strange, gnarled metal object. It seemed to be a crumpled bullet, but flowered out strangely. It seemed almost to be comprised of two pieces.
"Th... the dime."
"Around your neck, yes. It caused the bullet to stop just short of your heart. If it hadn't been there the doctors said you would probably be dead."
Dewey looked towards the former number one dime, before looking up at the ceiling, breathing evenly. Memories from... was it really two days ago? Memories from then flooded back to him, and a feeling of triumph came over his face.
However. "The war. What about the war?"
"There is no war, Dewey."
"But... But Thembria..."
"...Has finally been absorbed into the Soviet Union. The Grand High Marshall was executed. Probably for trying to start Nuclear war over a magical dime. For the moment, we're safe, besides the conflict in Vietnam of course."
Dewey sighed, relieved. "I want a phone."
"No. Louie is acting CEO until you get better. I'm supposed to keep you honest."
"Louie! But... But...!"
"He's doing quite well so far, if you want to know. He reopened all the factories Farid closed, and aborted the plan for weapons manufacturing." Donald sat down at a chair by Dewey's bed. "Your goldmine has proved to be quite rich, by the way."
"My mine..." Dewey smiled, "My mine."
"And Uncle Scrooge's fortune is safe. All of your accounts have been unfrozen, and all the charges have been expunged. They even forgave Huey's draft dodging, though I think he's gotten to like life abroad."
Dewey nodded, "Good."
Donald seemed to look around, feeling a bit awkward after all those years away. "Well, uh. I should go. The docs say I should still be in bed like you." He began to walk out of the room.
"Wait. Uncle Donald."
He froze, before slowly turning around to face his nephew.
"Where did you go? You were gone for so long."
"There was..." Donald looked down, "There was an invasion. Aliens. Don't bother trying to make sense of it, you won't remember, but PK... I stopped it, but at the end I had spent so long behind the mask that I... it was difficult to give it up, see?"
"Are you going to settle down now?"
Dewey's eyes were hard as he they swiveled to lock with Donald's. Donald's eye kept pace with Dewey's. Dewey then drew his gaze down to Donald's left hand, where a simple gold band still encircled the finger.
"Yes..." said Donald, once he saw the ring, "Yes, I think I'll settle down." He turned back towards the door and walked out without another word, but with the weight of the world finally off of his shoulders.
It was indeed one week later when Dewey and Donald Duck were released from the hospital. A crowd of people gathered around, taking photos of the pair, escorted by Dewey's two brothers and personal assistant. Dewey walked with a cane due to the injury in his leg sustained during the fight with Farid, and men in trenchcoats with tape recorders shouted at him for his story. His group wound their way through the crowd towards a long limosine. When Dewey caught sight of the long, opulent car, he gave a dirty look towards Louie.
Suddenly, A man vaulted through the crowd, firing off his camera wildly while asking a volley of questions; Where did they go? What were they doing? Is it true that McDuck Enterprises was going to sell weapons to the soviets.
A flashbulb was soon flying over the crowd, as the rest of the camera, minus a few parts, crashed to the floor with a shattering noise. Dewey then placed the cane back on the ground, with a small dent where the wood was nicked by the metal rim of the camera. He then ducked down and sat in the car, followed by the rest of his friends and family.
Louie was the last one in, and smiled brightly, waving his hat towards the crowd.
"Looks like Uncle Scrooge is back in town, boys!"
The crowd laughed as they jotted down Louie's; the witty brother's; jaunty little jab. He was the witty brother, the reader favorite who sold papers with a smile and an off-color remark, but Dewey was all business, and a businessman was exactly what McDuck Enterprises needed now.
The group was gathered on the docks, sitting and standing around the benches facing the water, where the Sea Duck was moored, repaired, refueled, and looking as good as the day she was first born.
Dewey and Webby sat in the middle, while Louie and Gosalyn, out of costume and still going by the name "Lorelei" around the Ducks, although she made no effort to hide her casual self, stood behind. Huey, with the three girls on either side of him and behind, sat on a second bench, while Doofus and Donald stood by.
"I suppose this is it," Said Huey, "That was the last party all together. From now on we're pretty much on our own."
"I don't suppose you could stay?" asked Webby.
"No. I gotta keep moving. I like working for Mr. Cloudkicker. Lets me go places, meet people."
Louie spoke up, "And we've got to be getting back to Saint Canard."
Goz placed a finger to her beak, "Hush-hush."
"And besides," continued Huey, "I've got to take these three lovely ladies back home."
They all gave sweet little sounds of disappointment, before Rosalina spoke, "Cannot we come with you Huey? We want to see the world."
Huey then began to sweat, "Well, girls, it's not like I don’t want you to come with. It's just... your Uncle..."
"Tio Carioca agrees with us," said Maria, whose English was improving.
"He think we should be with you," said Amalia, whose English finally existed.
"But..." He said, clearly wanting them to stick around, but afraid of what would happen if that came to pass, "...I mean, I'm all for it, but... You know how... how much I like you... all three of you... and I don't know if your Uncle would approve if I didn't... er..."
"Uh..." Huey blushed and let himself slouch in the bench, "Yeah."
There was a moment, where the three girls had frozen around the dejected Huey, before all three burst into merry laughter.
"Is THAT why you were so nervous around us Huey?"
"Because you thought you had to choose..."
"Y- uh... What?" Huey said, perking up.
"We though you just weren't into group sex is why you only slept with us one at a time," said Rosalina with an innocent smile, "Why did you not say something?"
But Huey could not say anything, the thoughts and feelings he was experiencing at the moment were indescribable. Head, heart, and loins burned at once. "You mean I get... all three of you?"
"Yes!" They said.
"All at once?"
"And Joe approves?"
"As long as you never look at anyone but us..."
"...But then you would have to worry..."
"...About us more."
A rumble in Huey's throat began to grow, becoming a cry, before morphing into a shout of pure victory. He stood quickly, anxious to be on his way. He shook each of his brother's hands in turn.
"Well fellas, It's been great, But I gotta fly. Take care. Don't let him work you too hard Webby. Remember to eat a really expensive meal once in a while. Don't take any wooden nickels. I'm..."
He then reached for Donald's hand and froze.
"Goodbye, Huey," said Donald, simply, "I'm sorry I couldn't have been a better father."
Louie and Dewey looked at each other quickly, wondering what Huey would do. His face was an unreadable mask as he stood before his Uncle, with the three girls placing their worried hands over their mouths.
But suddenly, Huey's arms reached out, encircling Donald in a warm embrace. Donald stood for a minute, basking in the tightness, before his own arms came up and hugged back. When they broke apart, Huey looked to be a better man, more energetic, happier, ready to love and be loved. He reached for the girls hands, wishing idly that he had three hands. The leftover girl, Amalia, not content being left out, simply hiked up her skirt and hopped up onto the back of her new shared lover, and Huey laughed, taking her light weight as he and the girls walked up the ramp of the Sea Duck, laughing and loving and lusting all the way.
As the plane began to take off, Gosalyn smirked, "Think it'll last?"
"I think that is entirely beside the point, 'Lorelai,'" said Louie, "The very fact that it has happened will make him proud to be a man for the rest of his life." Louie then sighed theatrically, stretching his arms before placing a hand on his Brother's shoulder, "Well, Dewey. That's it for me. McDuck is all yours. I kept the seat warm for you, got your affairs in order, and tried to leave everything as close as it was to how you left it. Hope you're ready for a hard core pain in the ass."
"I think after all this vacation, a little drudgery will be just what I need."
"I thought so." He took Gosalyn's arm and began to walk away. "By the way, I gave fifteen thousand dollars to 'Books without borders.'"
"I kept the receipt this time. Don't worry. It's tax-deductible." He waved his hand lazily, "Ciao."
Gosalyn laughed, grabbing him by the waist. He flinched away a bit.
"What's wrong?" she whispered.
"Sorry," he whispered, not wanting to ruin his exit, "You're just still so young..."
"How old do you think I am?"
"I dunno... Seventeen?"
"Yeah, seventeen... When we FIRST met. That was over a year ago."
Gosalyn nodded her head, with a smirk. Louie heaved a sigh of relief, turned her around and kissed her as passionately as he could muster. Used to outbursts like that, she let him, and even reciprocated.
"Idiot," she said as they disengaged and walked off, arm-in-arm, into the proverbial sunset.
"I should be going too, Dewey. Mr. Duck. W- Webby," said Doofus, wringing his hands, "Mr. Crackshell will be expecting me soon. I've got you-know-what to do tonight."
"Of course, Doofus," said Dewey, "As you were."
Doofus seemed poised to say something, He wanted so to take Webby with him, to make her his. He loved her so, he knew that now, and he regretted he had ever let her go. "Webby...?"
She looked up at him with a pleading look. A look that begged him not to say anything. Her arms encircled Dewey's as they both sat on the bench. In a terrible instant, Doofus knew that she was lost to him, and that for her to be truly happy, She needed Dewey, and not Doofus, in her life.
"Goodbye, Webby," he said finally, before turning and leaving.
After a moment of silence, where Dewey, Webby, and Donald all sat or stood by the dock, watching the Sea Duck begin is ascent and fly off over the horizon, Donald began to walk away.
"I'm not saying goodbye," he called, "Not yet. I've got a wife to get home to. I'll probably be in the doghouse for this."
"Feel free to come back to the Money bin," Dewey called, "For your old job back. The position is still vacant."
"Is the pay any better?"
Dewey had a quick intake of breath, and had a few false starts, before Webby jumped in, "$5.00 an hour."
Dewey's head snapped to give her a look, "Ms. Vanderquack!"
"He's married, Dewey, thirty cents an hour isn't going to cut it."
Dewey grunted, before turning back to his uncle and saying, firmly, "Three dollars, and not a cent more, understand me?"
Donald smirked, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Welcome back, Dewey."
"Welcome Back, Uncle Donald."
The Duck walked on, finally content in the safety of Scrooge's legacy, towards the old house where he used to live with the little woman named Daisy who was sure to sock him square in the jaw before giving him the biggest kiss in the world for being away so long.
And so, Dewey and Webby sat, watching the sun slowly set over the horizon. The twilight air settled over them like a fog as the two bodies simply sat, feeling the other's presence through the contact of their arms.
After a moment, Webby said, "I have something to show you."
Blindfolded and pushed, Dewey stumbled forward through the halls of the money bin. He could tell where he was, as the smell of greenbacks still lingered there, but faded over time. He wondered what was up.
"Just a little more," Webby said, before she stopped and took off his blindfold. "Ta-da!" She was holding a long package.
"What's this?" said Dewey.
"A present, open it."
He looked up at her, slowly, before looking back down to the package. It was gaudily wrapped in holiday wrapping, each piece of which was tied with string so as to be entirely reusable. He smiled. She smiled. He began to open it, careful not to rip the wrapping too badly, and revealed a long box, which opened to reveal...
"To replace the one that got ruined. I knew you weren't going to buy one yourself, so..."
"Oh. Webigail. It's... I love it." He wound it around his collared neck, and attempted to tie it on, once, twice. In their practiced dance, Webby reached forward and tied it on for him, with neither of them paying much attention to the fact.
He went to look at himself in the reflection in the window, and nodded, "It's nice. I like it."
He looked around the room, placing his hands on his hips as he surveyed his office, which, for once, he felt like he had earned the right to call 'his.' "What time does work start in the morning?"
"Six o'clock, sharp."
"Right. Another day, another million dollars." He began to hobble out of the office, "Come, Ms. Vanderquack. Lets go..."
"There's... one more surprise I wanted to show you."
He turned his head towards her. "Yes?"
She took his hand, gently, and led him towards the money bin's vault. She laid his hand on the locking mechanism, and allowed him to input the code. The bolts came undone with a loud, hollow noise, and the vault door swung open.
Inside there seemed to be nothing, as usual, the money of years redistributed among the three brothers. However, as Dewey got closer.
"Webby! You didn't!"
"It's all yours, Dewey!" she cried pointing out the shallow pool of money that had formed at the bottom of the bin, "Every single cent!"
With her help, and wincing from his lame leg, he began to climb down the long ladder. It took the two of them a long time to reach the bottom, where the load, predominantly made of coin with a few small greenbacks around to fluff it out, laid like a silver sea.
"It's all of the profit to date from the Gold mine," she said, before pointing out a small, charred strongbox, "Plus what you saved from the B&B."
He hobbled over to the strongbox and opened it. The absurdly high amount of Brazilian money, amounting to barely any American, laid in the box. Dewey smiled as he mentally counted it. His.
A wild thought came over him, "How deep it is?"
"About five feet. We made sure to use a lot of small change at this point, to fill it out, you know?"
"Perfect. Perfect!" He stood, taking her by the hand, "Do you still remember how?"
"Remember how to..." her eyes blinked and she looked at the sea of cash that felt so hard under her feet, "You don't mean. With your leg?"
"Uncle Scrooge did it well into his 90s, I think I can do it with a bum leg. Come on." He veritably dragged her to the end of the wall, his eyes shining brightly, "And I was thinking when we get home, I'm thirsty for some of that good nutmeg tea you make. Have I ever told you I like your tea?"
"Well, I do. I was just never thirsty for it before. I'm parched now. Hungry too. Where can we get some cheap Chinese or something?"
"There's the take-out place on the corner."
"Perfect. I could just go for some Chop suey and rice, with all the free soy sauce and fortune cookies I can pocket. Ready?"
"It's been years, but... I think so."
"Let's jump... together then..."
"Y-yes. I... I'd like that, Dewey."
Silently, Dewey counted, one, two, three, before he dove, headfirst towards the money, followed closely by Webby. Defying all physics, the two bodies sliced through the coins like water, old instincts coming back to them like the art of the bicycle, allowing them to dive through the coins like porpoises, burrowing through the greenbacks like two gophers, before popping to the surface, tossing the fruits of Dewey's labor up and letting it hit them on the head.
After this ONE MORE! Sorry to post it at such a funny time. I'll probably post the last one either later today or tomorrow. Enjoy this lovely Episode about a man eating a bran muffin.
Pic related. My only regret so far is that I only got to use the WHORES WHORES WHORES tag once.
The sun had come up over the Bombay horizon but one half-hour before, and the haze of night still clung to the city like a jacket. The clear sky and the spectacular rising of the sun had gone unnoticed and unheeded by the occupant of the top floor penthouse office of the Khan building. He was not especially pleased or displeased with any of the news that had come to his office about everything that had occurred. The investigations into his affairs. The war that had blocked that investigation. The SIL's custodial responsibility over the Duck family keeping them out of his hair. It was simply news and interesting tidbits to add to the pile. The business plan had already gone through, after all, and would soon start to effect the bottom line.
He took a bran muffin from a small bag on his desk. He peeled off the paper film surrounding the rutted edge of the stump, and licked it, his rough tongue stripping bits of the pastry that had stuck to the paper off and into his mouth. He then discarded the film in a small wastebasket by his desk without really thinking about it, before reaching for a formerly warm cup of tea which had been left on his desk slightly too soon. It was still enjoyable; one sugar, lots of milk; but it could have done with a little more heat. If it happened like that again, he would have words with the woman outside.
He drank and ate in silence, allowing himself the briefest of indulgences before he dived into the meat of the day's activities. The official declaration was supposed to be announced later today, the papers had predicted, and he had to be ready for McDuck Enterprises to receive the various orders for weapons for every army in the world. Such things will be time consuming, therefore he needed his strength.
He popped the last of the muffin into his mouth. It was quite good, from a little privately-owned store around the corner from the Khan building. He enjoyed the irony of it.
Sipping down the last of his tea, he began to look over the work he had left the night before, as well as the work that had piled up over the night. He found, at the top of the stack, an envelope unmarked. He smiled and reached into a drawer, pulling out a pair of steel pliers, before picking up the blank, unmarked envelope, and clicking a small, hidden button under his desk. A hole opened up near his wastebasket, which he dropped the letter down, letting it flutter into the dark, before calling his receptionist.
"I've sent a blank letter down the chute," he said in Hindi, "Have it diffused and traced, and have whoever sent it killed."
He cut the connection from the receptionist's office and took a final sip of tea. It was good tea, he had to admit, even if it was a bit on the cold side.
The large, plate glass window behind him and slightly to the left suddenly exploded into the room showering glass all over the carpet. His head whipped around as he ducked to the right, just avoiding catching a small, red two-seater convertible with the back of his neck, and a lot of broken shards of glass besides. He fell to the floor and crawled away from the still settling wreckage that was being made of his office by the car. He cleared the desk just as the front fender clipped the corner and caused the whole great oak thing to spin around, nearly missing striking him in the leg as he crawled towards the bookcase. Once there, he tapped a hidden button to call for security.
While still hunched over on the floor, he then proceeded to pull book after book out of the bookcase, before he found what he was looking for, a copy of a motivational book called "Your greatest attributes," which he opened to reveal a hollowed out chamber with a revolver inside. He grasped the gun and pointed towards the wreckage which had finally crashed into the far wall, not quite hard enough to break through the thick wood paneling. He then pointed towards the now open window, where a small parade of ducks was entering in from the nose of a purple, duck-shaped plane that hovered in the air near the window.
He fired the gun once towards the first hint of blue he saw, Dewey Duck, but the bullet was quickly deflected by Gizmoduck, stepping in front of the bullet.
The Steel duck bore down on him quickly, and he prepared to fire again, aiming for the duck's uncovered mouth and neck. The gun was knocked out of his hand by a large boxing glove that struck the silver firearm. However, the door to Farid's office opened and a crowd of Beagle boys dressed as security guards poured in.
"C'mon Gizmo!" yelled Darkwing Duck, jumping into the room from the Thunderquack, firing arrow after arrow at the swarming beagles. The Green Phantom, wielding a long, leather whip, managed to hold off and disarm the Beagles, while Darkwing knocked them out with sleepy arrows. Gizmoduck turned away from Farid Kagan to join the fight, succeeding in pushing the security guards out of he office and into the reception area.
Suddenly safe, Farid began to crawl towards the downed revolver, and had almost reached it when the sound of a cocking musket made itself apparent.
"Stop it Farid," said Dewey duck, cooly, holding the gun squarely at Farid Kagan's impassive face, and flanked by Huey and PK like two muscled bouncers. "No more getting your way. For now, we chat."
Out in the hall, Gizmo, GP, and DW were making quick work of the Beagle boys. The artless thieves and cutpurses were unused to fighting superheroes in any case, and fighting three at once was nearly impossible.
The Green Phantom laughed gaily as he hit his stride, the long whip he wielded at once a lash, a bind, and a long prehensile limb. To one Beagle about to fire a gun he gave a quick flip of his wrists and a red, bloody gash appeared on the sensitive skin on the back of his hand, causing him to drop the gun in surpise. To another, he flipped the leather cord around, wrapping it up around a beagle's head and pulling sharply, causing the man to fall into a group of his allies, scattering them like tenpins. Swipe, whip, spin, the new cape he had procured before the adventure whirled around him, obscuring his form from bullets wanting for purchase in flesh, and causing the dancing whip to become even more deadly unpredictable.
Gizmoduck was much more direct. Boxing gloves to KO incoming beagles. Rockets to scatter large groups. Oil slicks or marbles to trip up pursuers. The Steel duck's power was nearly unlimited as he destroyed wide swaths of enemies, leaving stragglers desperate to escape his wrath to flee, and fall within the range of one of his two allies.
Darkwing did not move so much, preferring to hang back, covered quite well by the two boys fighting gallantly and flamboyantly. She stayed behind and fired her bow upon the encroaching dogs with a near endless supply of arrows dipped in chlorophorm. At her behest, many Beagle boys simply died away, and some, carelessly shot through the heart or head, simply died.
Eventually, the three of them had finished off the last of the troops. However...
Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta! Machine gun noises, thankfully from a terrible shot, caused The Phantom and Darkwing to dive behind Gizmoduck. Gizmo extended a body-length shield, with a convenient eyehole, through which he saw Ballast beagle, fat and stupid, firing blindly upon the room, hitting his downed allies more often than he hit the Duck's shield, and the walls more often than both. Thinking fast, The Green Phantom pulled an arrow from Darkwing's quiver, ignoring her silent protest, before breaking off the tip and placing it in a sling recovered from his utility belt. Counting his blessings, he reached around the shield, swinging the bulbous head of the arrow towards the Gun-toting Beagle boy.
The bulb flew through the air as if in slow motion, before, by chance, it was struck out of the air by a bullet. Ballast, who was laughing like a baby with a bundle of noisy keys, caught the full brunt of the explosion of Darkwing's explosive-tipped arrows with his face and chest, his lower regions rendered safe by the bulky gun. His upper regions, however, were blown clear off, the red meat of his cheeks and chest revealed in a moment of terrible heat and fire as the firing slowed down and suddenly stopped. With his eyes ripped open, never to close again, he fell forward to the floor, gun first, dying propped up by the giant heavy weapon with a grotesque childish rictus painted on his face.
"Ballast!" cried a voice behind, as Braincase Beagle reached around the corpse of his fat brother and fired wildly with his small pistol, which was much more accurate than the huge gun from before. "I'll kill you."
However, Gizmoduck, covered by his shield, was able to roll towards Braincase. A huge, white-gloved hand popped out of Gismo's chest and grasped the Beagle by the head, picking him up bodily. The gun dropped to the floor, clattering as it knocked against the hard floor. With a whip-crack, the Beagle was tossed casually against the wall, knocked out by the concussion, before falling upon a pile of bodies of his brothers.
The three heroes gathered in the center of the room, surrounded by the grisly fruits of their effots. Darkwing knocked an arrow, Green Phantom readied his whip, and Gizmo's hand hovered over his gizmo.
"Going up!" Yelled a voice from up above, before a rope, tied in a noose, came down to encircle Darkwing's throat. She was lifted suddenly, her cry cut off in mid-choke, and disappeared up above through a hole in the stucco ceiling.
"Goz!" cried The Green Phantom as he rushed forward to grab her, before stopping, realizing that would strangle her faster.
GP and Gizmo stood, dumbfounded, as they heard laughing and scuffling up above. A mad cackle, that seemed to drip with sweat and oil, and took on a tone of impure intentions. The sounds of the scuffle took on a lecherous tone as the rustle of clothes replaced the laugh. Gizmo was about to aim a gizmo up above, when the sound suddenly stopped.
Crash! Through the thin ceiling material a body came down. It was Boner Beagle, half-undressed, pants unbuttoned, with his arousal plain to see, standing as erect as the arrow which had been thrust into him, creating a bloody wound right through his right eye and into his brain. He twitched pathetically, going soft in his death rattle, before he breathed out and was silenced.
Soon after, Darkwing jumped down from the crawlspace above the ceiling, landing atop the dead man's chest, certainly cracking a still-warm rib. She was breathing hard, and had blood on her purple glove and the noose still around her neck.
Louie ran up to her, pulling the noose away from over her head, and reached down to kiss her roughly. She protested for a moment, she had nearly been raped after all, this did not seem an appropriate time for romance, but the moment overtook her, and she embraced the Green clad hero tightly, letting her beak mesh with his, fireworks going off behind her eyes, either from the kiss or from the temporary loss of oxygen.
Soon, they broke apart, and noticed that Gizmoduck had politely looked away. They looked back to each other and blushed, before they all three rushed back towards the office to give the all clear.
"It's over Farid. We know all about the plan," Said Dewey, his eyes hot coals of hate aiming down the sight of the McDuck musket.
"Of course you do," said Farid, the sounds of the rumpus out in the hall not going at all positively for him, "what do you know, pray tell? Merely good business sense put to work. You said yourself that a business is merely a machine to make more money."
"But it's a fair machine, Farid. It's driven by the needs of people on the consumer end, and the profit comes from the guy who can provide the best products."
"Men like us create markets for things all the time."
"Not for war. Not to trade people's lives for profit, Farid. What you're doing..."
"What I'm doing would have made your Uncle proud."
"...It would have made him sick to his stomach, Farid Kagan. He would never stoop to what you did." Dewey looked down over his beak at Farid Kagan, who was slowly standing from his place on the ground. "You started a war for the express purpose to... to what? To make for a better profit margin? McDuck Enterprises was doing just fine before you decided to screw with it!"
"I must admit..." began Farid, as he stood, getting his dignity back as he brushed himself off, "There is a bit more to it than that."
Dewey's gun followed, and it was clear he was waiting for the tiger to give his reasons.
"Imagine, you were the nephew of a great man. Not so hard. Imagine that that great man's company, that he built from the ground up with his own blood and sweat was bought out by someone else, apparently a greater man, and was made a peon, a lowly executive while the CEO who stole his seat sat up on an ivory tower somewhere in the United States, with so much money that he could swim in it."
"So you took over McDuck Enterprises for revenge? You laid siege to Duckburg for revenge? You started a war between the US and Soviet Union... A war that could spiral out of control into nuclear holocaust... for revenge?"
"That's only part of it," said Farid, adjusting his tie, "Getting back at McDuck is strickly beside the point. Mostly it was to do what my own uncle taught me. To seek the bottom line. At all costs." As he stood, Farid crossed his arms. "So what now? Are you going to shoot me? Beat me up? They'll still label you a terrorist and I a martyr. I don't see what the point is to this little visit, Mr. Duck. I've already won."
"Not where I'm standing," said Huey, as he reached within his jacket and pulled out a small recording device, courtesy of Gearloose Magazine's 'Moonligh Vigilante' line. He switched off the running recorder. "Courtesy of one Green Phantom."
The play button was pushed, and Farid's voice mocked back at him, "...don't see what the point is to this little visit, Mr. Duck. I've already won."
Farid's eyes went wide. He backed up into the bookshelf, "N-no! You..."
"You lose, Farid," said Dewey, "Now are you going to come with us to S.H.U.S.H HQ quietly?"
"I think not."
Another hidden button was pressed, and the bookshelf he leaned on twisted around quickly revealing nothing but the bookcase, with no Farid anywhere in sight. Dewey swore loudly and rushed forward, pressing the same button to follow Farid just as the three superheroes ran back into the office.
"Dewey!" cried PK, slipping in just as the Bookcase swiveled closed, jamming itself on a book that had fallen from the shelf and wedged between the book case and frame, unable to be opened by the others.
The emergency roof access door burst open as Farid Kagan ran at top speed across the wide helipad towards the private helicopter he kept on the roof. As he neared the vessel, he could hear the door open again and cursed loudly.
"Farid!" cried Dewey, running after the tiger, musket in hand.
Farid made it to the helicopter and reached inside. A pistol found its way into his hands, firing its payload towards the duck with a loud snap, which Dewey was able to dive away from just in time. On his stomach then, Dewey took aim with his musket and fired.
CRACK went the gun, and in a terrible instantaneous moment, the gun in Farid's hand, as well as the hand itself, had simply disappeared. Blood spurted from Farid's wrist as he screamed, falling away from the helicopter, clenching his wrist hole closed to stymie the flow of blood.
Dewey stood and, still wielding the unarmed musket, ran up to Farid Kagan, who was struggling to his feet to get away from the Duck.
"Nobody!" Cried Dewey, as the butt of the musket found purchase on Farid's face.
"Fucks!" He continued, planting a foot in Farid, causing him to roll further away from the helicopter.
"With!" The butt of the gun was once again used.
"My!" Stomp! Dewey's webbed foot crushed against the man's chest.
"Family's!" A fist shot out cracking against the man's jaw.
"MONEY!" With this, the butt of the gun was once again applied to the man's face as he tried to stand to get away from the rage of the Duck family, combined with the pragmatism and vengefulness of the McDuck clan. The blow sent him tumbling backwards, landing with a thump on his back.
As Dewey approached, concussed blood dripping from the butt of the rifle, Farid's face looked around desperately for something to use. He saw, still clenched in his dead, detached hand, the gun. With his off hand, he pried the still pliable fingers off of the gun and snatched it up, pointing it towards the oncoming duck.
"Dewey!" cried a voice. "Look out!"
Farid, panicking, altered his shot towards the voice and fired.
Dewey turned. His eyes went wide as he saw PK standing near the doorway, frozen in an expression of surprise. As he was watched, he crumpled to the floor silently.
That something within Dewey stirred, and he couldn't help but run over as Farid lay dazed on the far edge of the rooftop. He knelt beside PK and rolled him over to face up to the sky, supporting his head.
"PK. Are you alright?"
"You're hurt. You need help."
"I'm not... I'm not important. It's you, you and your brothers, you're the future. I... I'm just an old... so-and-so..."
Not understanding the profound feelings within him, Dewey couldn't help but feel overcome by emotion as this masked man lay bleeding in his arms. Quickly, telling himself it's to give him much needed air, Dewey ripped away the mask to reveal the face behind. He gasped.
"U... Uncle Donald!" He cried.
The white, lined face of the duck, Donald Duck, were plain. A single eye, the other lost in some unknowable conflict since his disappearance was the only feature Dewey couldn't place on the otherwise painfully familiar face.
"I... I didn't want you to know..."
"Uncle Donald. You've been watching over us this whole time?"
"Yes... I wanted... I used Joe and Panchito... to tell me where you would be. I wanted to see..."
"Don't talk, Uncle Donald," insisted Dewey, taking off his jacket and laying it over the Duck's wound to stop the blood from flowing.
"You were..." He had begun to sweat, surprise at the sudden wound being taken over by pain, "You were always a good kid, Dewey. You... you all were. I'm glad... I'm glad Uncle Scrooge's legacy is..."
"Please, Uncle Donald. Shhh. You're too weak."
The roof access door opened yet again, and this time Huey and Louie appeared. Huey all but screamed as he saw Donald Duck stretched out, bullet in him, and ran over, kneeling.
"Uncle Donald! No!"
A sudden, wracking sob tore the air, rending Dewey and Louie's souls to the core. Their brother, Huey, the strong, unbreakable pillar of the three Duck boys, had tears on his cheeks as he looked into the one-eyed face of Donald Duck.
"Don't die, Uncle Donald!" cried Huey, "Don't die! I couldn't go on! Don't leave us alone. Not again!"
Louie walked up and inspected the wound, "We need to get him downstairs, to a doctor. Where's Farid?"
Dewey looked over and saw that Farid was not where he had been left. He stood quickly and took up his musket.
"Take care of Uncle Donald," he said, as Louie's impassive face and Huey's tear-stained one looked up at him, "Get him somewhere safe. I've got unfinished business."
Without looking back to see his two brothers carefully move the injured, half-costumed PK down off the roof. Dewey crept along the room, cognizant of the fact that Farid, one-handed though he might be, still had a loaded gun.
He ran up to the Helicopter and used it as cover, finally giving himself the chance to pour the measure of powder into the musket, before tamping it down with the Ramrod, before loading the shot and once again giving it a tamp. Now armed, he once again began to creep along the roof, looking all around himself.
BANG! Went a shot behind him, near the edge of the roof. Farid Kagan was there, his handsome face marred and bloody from Dewey's working-over of him earlier. He fired again, and Dewey felt a pain in his leg.
He yelled and looked down. His leg had been struck, but it was only nicked. It was a fleshwound that he could still walk on. He did, walking with purpose towards Farid, whose face was contorted in a sudden expression of sublime fear.
BANG! A shot from the pistol missed. Dewey got closer.
BANG! The shot veered off course as Farid's hand shook uncontrollably.
"Get away from me!" Farid screamed, wanting so to steady the gun with both hands.
Saying nothing, Dewey merely raised his musket and fired.
Farid was struck. He looked down and saw the spreading blood staining his immaculate shirt, and knew in a moment that it was the end. He looked up at Dewey, his face cold and calculating, and in a wild flash of pure hate, found the strength, even without the ability to breathe fully, to raise his gun one more time and fire.
Dewey, for a moment, did not feel anything, and merely continued to walk towards Farid Kagan, unaware of any injury he had sustained.
"I...Impossible!" said Farid, in the emotion of a cry, but with only the ability of a whisper, "I... Impossible!"
With a single punch from Dewey Duck, Farid found himself flying, watching the still rising sun over the upside-down cityscape of Bombay grow down from above his vision, the sun seeming to set upwards behind the jagged outlines of the square towers. He found that he was screaming as he fell from the Khan Building, but no sound came out. Instead, blood was gushing from his windpipe, and he slowly blacked out, wondering idly why.
Back up on the roof. Dewey sighed. It was over at last. The recording would clear his name. Even if there was to be a war, it would get no help from Dewey Duck.
That's when the adrenaline wore off and the pain in his chest became apparent. Before five seconds of panicked realization had occurred, loss of blood and exhaustion caused Dewey duck to pass out, placing a hand over the gnarled hole that had been drilled directly over his heart.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
TWO MORE! As we draw the story to a close, I invite you to re-read over it, and revel in how mistake-ridden it is, but also to see if It holds together as a cohesive whole as much as I think it does. Watch out for blatant hints I dropped to future events. I don't remember what hints I dropped, but I'm pretty sure I dropped them.
Enjoy the MSpaint, especially how kinda retarded Louie looks.
Here's to a non-disappointing final two chapters!
In 1951, years after the Sky Pirate menace had long since disappeared from the air over the Indies and Caribbean, the Pirate hideout was discovered, or, perhaps, simply revealed, by a young pilot and adventurer based in Cape Suzette named Kit Cloudkicker. Soon after, the UN, in the process of forming a new international police organization for squelching world-wide crime, claimed the small volcanic island off the coast of Africa as a neutral territory and set up the secret headquarters of the Sky Inspection League, set up to police the problem of smuggling and piracy that still plagued the region.
Carved out of a Volcanic mountain and with enough space to store a small army, the island, still referred to as "Pirate Island" even when formally renamed after the Director of S.H.U.S.H at the time as "Hooter Isle," was a perfect place to police the corrupt Asiatic skies.
It was hot inside, the fire within the earth felt plainly through the thick natural stone walls, with added structural supports and safety railing added only later, after a few unfortunate lava-pool-related fatalities were reported.
As the Sea Duck was towed out of the Iron Vulture and into the small Lagoon used as a dock, The boys watched from a few empty seats near a guardhouse beside the lagoon at all of the people.
They ran around, exclaiming to one another, whispering rumors and half-remembered truths. Almost as soon as the Vulture had landed, the surviving crew had spread the story of the attack by Thembria, and was answered by murmurs of war. Dewey shrank back in his seat slightly as more than one accusatory eye came his way.
"World War Three," said Louie in civilian garb, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked off across the lagoon to the patch of sky he could see through the far-off opening, "It's really coming. World War Three."
"That's what they said," noted Dewey, "Thembria are allied with the USSR, who are allied with China, North Korea, North Vietnam, East Germany and whatever other communist nations I'm forgetting. Thembria has picked a fight with the SIL which is an arm of S.H.U.S.H, which, although a neutral peacekeeping organization, is essentially American."
"With how much the Russians and Americans seem to like throwing around how many bombs they have, I wouldn't be surprised if we're all glowing in a half a year," said Huey, bitterly.
Louie shivered, "You think they would really do it? Bombs?"
"Honestly, I think the US will probably give it to them first, but we won't know until it happens."
"Where's your patriotism, Huey? It'll be the Russians who'll do it, I just know it."
"It flew out the door once we started this war with 'nam." He gave a sidelong glance to Louie. "I would think you and I would see closer on this sort of thing, considering..."
"Well, you always seemed to be the... I dunno... Rebellious one. At least where Uncle Scrooge was concerned." Huey leaned back, thankful for the shift in subject. "Spending money like water and going in for total selflessness and all that. Scrooge would have turned over in his grave if he heard about your adventures in Saint Canard."
Dewey spoke up, "Uncle Scrooge was only one of our guardians, if you'll remember, Huey, and even then only for a few years." His eyes swiveled over as he scratched his cheeks which had grown some serious whiskers since that fateful day in Duckburg. "When you think about Uncle Donald, Louie was absolutely devoted to him."
Huey frowned and turned away. "I suppose that's right."
"Listen," Louie said suddenly, turning his face from one brother to the other, "It's not like I'm pro-war or anything. It just scares the shit out of me, y'know." He smiled, but with a note of a sigh, "You never know when us Superheroes are going to get called in by S.H.U.S.H to go... I dunno... help out behind enemy lines. Who knows? Someday I might be like Super Snooper and go punch out Hitler. Or in this case Stalin, I guess. Maybe a little patriotism is what we heroes need just to do our jobs."
"I don't like it."
"You're allowed not to like it. That's the cool thing about the stupid country."
Dewey was back to watching the crewmen walk back and forth. "I suppose with all the commotion, there's no hope for the investigation into Farid to go through. With any luck they'll just forget all about us." He sighed. "Of course that just leaves us right back where we started."
"It can't end here," said Louie, resolute, "It just can't."
"And if it does?" asked Huey.
"I won't let it. These hands could potentially be punching out Stalin in a few years, so some punk wannabe kingpin should be no problem."
"You say that now..." smirked out Huey, "But how tough could you be if some fifty year old duck put you in a stretcher for two weeks?"
"Here you go, Doofus," said Webby as she unwrapped the bandages from around the formerly stricken shoulder, "You're well enough to move, I think."
Doofus sat up, placing a hand to his shoulder and moving it experimentally, working out the stiffness from not moving it for so long. The small sick-bay they sat in was brightly lit and sterile, and had a comfortable air conditioning system that protected the infirm from the heat of the cave it was located in.
Doofus smiled sheepishly. "Thanks Webby. You're a lifesaver."
"It's just my job here, I guess. Team nurse, team den mother, teacher, shoulder to cry on. You know. Usual stuff for the token girl on these kinds of adventures."
Dewey's spectacled face homed in on Webby suddenly, their strong gaze burning a hole in her soul. "Why do you let Dewey jerk you around like he does, Webby? It can't be good for you. It makes me so sad to see..."
"It's not as bad as all that, Doofus. He's my boss, and I'll stick by him." she laughed. "I haven't been paid yet anyway. I have to stick by him until then at least."
"Don't joke about that, Webby. He's... he's not good for you."
Doofus's hand flew over to lay itself over Webby's resting on the hard hospital bed. Webby stood suddenly, jerking her arm away.
"Don't do this, Doofus. We... We both decided we weren't right for one another a long time ago. Don't reopen old wounds."
"But Webby..." He began to stand. "...I know we grew apart. You had your career and I had... mine. I'm sorry. Both of our lives conspired to break us apart, but." He walked towards her, slowly. "But we've both changed. I don't have to hide who I am anymore, and you..."
"No. Doofus, stop! It wasn't just how... how unavailable you were. I know now why you were the way you were and that makes me feel better, but..."
"How is it any different from how Dewey is? He doesn't love you. He sees you as a tool for making money. You're just his secretary."
Webby rounded on Doofus and held up an admonishing finger, "Don't you dare, Doofus. Dewey is a good man and he is going through a lot right now. He can't be thinking about anything like that."
"Doofus. I'm warning you. Don't. Just don't. We had our chance together and you blew it. You broke my heart when you left..."
"For your own safety."
"I didn't know that at the time. Even though I know now I feel like... You could have told me."
"No... No I couldn't have. I couldn't have subjected you to..."
"What? I couldn't have taken the truth?" She shook her head, "Doofus, I grew up for a long time in McDuck Mansion. Even after the boys moved back in with Donald, Grammy and I stayed in the Mansion as staff. I was raised on adventure just as much as the Duck brothers were. I think I could have taken knowing why the man I used to love disappeared, and when he came back, grew so distant so suddenly. I would have understood."
"I... I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. It was all just so... so new and exciting. But I've changed. I know what I'm doing now. Mr. Crackshell is back, and I can stop all of those horrible things I did in Saint Canard." His hand was on her shoulder, gentle. "Please, Webby. Give me another chance."
They were silent for a long time, with Webby's shoulder feeling the warmth of her former love's hand on her shoulder. She felt the old stir she used to feel around Doofus. Her memories drifted back to before the disappearance, when he was just a normal boy, so different from the fantastic figures that surrounded her from day to day.
"No." She shrugged his hand off of her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Doofus. Maybe... Perhaps..." She began to walk out of the door, leaving Doofus in the sterile office, "Perhaps in another future."
She walked out, her arms twined around herself as she looked down, tracing the path of her feet along the ground. Doofus stayed in the room for a moment, before closing his eyes and sighing, sitting down at the doctor's table and burying his face in his hands.
A day went past, and then two, and finally three. War brewed over the horizon and there they were, right at the thick of it. The entire group was roundly ignored by most of the SIL, with only occasional friction between them and the Commodore, who still, on some level, believed that they did it, and this belief tore him apart inside.
With every day that passed, news from the outside got grimmer and grimmer. USSR and US peace talks were breaking down left and right, and it seemed that Thembria's attack would not go unpunished. For its part, the country remained unapologetic, although rumors of them starting the war to seek some occult amulet were popular, if disbelieved, bits of apocryphal wisdom, at least to those without knowledge of the ultimate goal of their former state sorceress.
Dewey was hunched over at a long table the group used as a sort of meeting place away from the prying eyes of the SIL. The room was adjacent to the hastily put together sleeping quarters they had been given, which were much less nice than the ones aboard the Iron Vulture. On the other end of the table, Huey and the girls were chatting low, teaching and learning bits of each other's languages, while Louie discussed the Superhero trade with Doofus. Webby sat at Dewey's side, reading the only thing she could, a silly romance novel that had been donated by the Iron Vulture's crew for her use.
From a small stack of the past few day's newspapers delivered from Bombay, Dewey was reading an article in an Indian newspaper, using his knowledge of the Hindi language to keep tabs on the business dealings of McDuck Enterprises. To his annoyance, stock prices under Farid Kagan were rising, even as he delivered some truly baffling changes to the structure of the company.
Several industries that were formerly the very center of McDuck's revenue base, for example, Mining, Banking, Agriculture, and others, were being closed out, or reduced.
"I don't get it." Said Dewey out loud, wrinkling his forehead at the latest news from yesterday's paper, "I just don't get it. What is he planning to do?"
Webby looked up from her novel, finding conversation potentially more interesting, "More news from the front?"
"Farid's just closed down several factories for automobile parts. He's literally robbing people of their jobs, but he's such a slick talker he's getting away with it. I can't see the profit in it."
Louie spoke up, his conversation with Doofus having come to a bit of a snag regarding the correct procedure for chasing down a mugger, "Maybe he's got a backup plan. Close down some factories, open them up later to big ole' fanfare or something."
"Maybe they weren't up to code," posited Webby, "You know how Uncle Scrooge would cut corners."
"Or maybe..." began Dewey, before shaking his head, "I wish we could actually do something. I feel so useless here."
"We all do, Dewey," said Doofus who was itching to put on the suit, but couldn't risk being seen by the SIL.
"No kidding," said Louie, "What I wouldn't give to just fly in there and bust some heads."
"It would never work," answered Dewey, shaking his head as he turned the page, moving from the business section into the arts, and throwing the paper onto the table, "It wouldn't accomplish anything but making us look more suspect."
"I know. But it would make me feel better. Right Huey?"
The girls nodded their heads in triumph.
"Maybe it will say something in today's paper," said Webby, reasonably. She reached into the stack and pulled out the new news, opening it right to the business section with a practiced unconscious motion, before passing it over to Dewey and looking back down to her book.
Webby's heart skipped a beat when he heard her boss say "Thank you."
"Y- you're welcome, Dewey."
Dewey was too engrossed in the business section to hear her however, and began reading the fascinating writing of the Hindi language. In a moment, everyone went back to their individual conversations and tasks.
Suddenly, Dewey slammed the paper down on the ground, "That double-crossing son of a bitch!"
"What's wrong?" said Webby, startled away from Lady Argyle receiving a ripped bodice from Duke Iverson of Glen, disguised as the pirate and robber-baron Gregor the Cut-throat, who was at this moment on his way to claim the Lady as his own forced bride.
"That... That bastard! He... He wouldn't!" Dewey quickly took the paper back up and re-read the passage, before, throwing the paper towards the wall with a growl.
"What? What? What?" yelled Louie, "Don't leave us in suspense!"
"He... The factories he closed down... All of those mines and industries..." Dewey stood quickly, causing his chair to clatter to the floor, "He...!" He turned away, beginning to pace.
"What did he do?"
"Weapons manufacturing! Bombs! Guns! Battleships! He's shifting McDuck Enterprises to a pure weapons manufacturer. He's... he's closing down all other non-essential wartime industries to focus on weapons."
"My god," said Huey.
"This... this is..." Suddenly, a light came on behind Dewey's eyes. He ceased the nervous pacing he had taken up and looked up at the wall, a terrible expression lighting up his face. A cruel mixture of fear and loathing and anger all coming together to form an evil concoction upon his face. His eyes were wide and wild, his mouth bent down at a brutal angle, and his forehead creased as his brows rose up to meet the heavens. His body went rigid and his hands flexed outwards, keeping that position for as long as he held the face that had come of his greatest betrayal. "This was his plan all along."
Huey stood quietly, saying, slowly, "What do you mean?"
Dewey snapped at Huey, "I mean, Huey, that Farid planned this, all of it. The siege on Duckburg was his plot to take over the company, using us to tie up the SIL and S.H.U.S.H so they wouldn't catch wise of the plot. He used Gizmoduck to lock down the superhero contingent in Saint Canard so they couldn't raise a finger to stop him even if they did figure him out. I'll bet..." He grunted and turned, leaning on the wall with one elbow and looking with his tortured expression down towards the ground, "...I'll bet he's somehow behind this new war as well. He used you, Huey, and Higher-for-hire to get us mixed up with the Thembrians when they attacked. He must have heard about Magica's need for that dime, and knew I never gave it up, so he threw us together, and counted on... on war. If we lost the dime they would declare war on the world and he wins. If we kept the dime they would tear the world apart trying to get it, and he wins!"
"Why would he do all that?" called Doofus, his hackles raising at the thought of being used to such an end, "What possible reason..."
Dewey laughed, a horrible, sardonic noise that resonated with all of them, "Money! Money! Money money money! World War Three is declared, he uses McDuck Enterprises to sell the Allies guns, rockets, bombs, and makes a killing. He turns around, and uses Khan Industries to sell the Soviets guns, rockets, bombs... He uses our birthright to fleece both sides of the conflict!"
Everyone looked at Dewey, shocked. Louie stood up slowly.
"My... my god. We've got to stop him!"
"Louie's right," said Doofus, standing up gallantly, "Starting a war to make money. That’s diabolical!"
"But what can we do?" said Webby, who stood as well, "We can't just go in and..."
"But we must," Said Dewey, cutting her off, "We can't fight him the way we have been. We need desperate measures. He's covered his tracks too well. Governments are eating out of his hand and the population is on his side thanks to the sympathy vote from taking over McDuck when we were implicated in the raid on Duckburg. S.H.U.S.H is too busy preparing for WWIII to do anything about him. We can't expose him. We have to stop him."
Louie's face had begun to smile a bit, "You mean it?"
Dewey nodded, "By force."
"The SIL," said Webby, her heart saying 'yes yes!' but her mind saying 'be careful,' "They'll never let us go."
"Who needs their permission?" smirked out Huey, his fist finding purchase in the palm of his hand.
Two SIL crewmen were rushing by the door to the conference room the guests were using when they heard two unfortunate words.
Soon enough, the entire wall blew open as rockets, fists, giant hammers, and various chainsaws and power tools sliced and knocked away. The crewmen tried to run, but were buried under the rubble from the near instantaneous explosion of plaster and iron. Soon, a small stampede of footsteps echoed through the hall as the group ran out. The Carioca girls, carrying the meager luggage of the small crew, crowded up behind Huey who ran joyousely through the hall. Doofus, in his armor, lead the charge along with Louie, in full costume including drawn-on mask. Dewey pounded along the hall at a secure clip, hand-in-hand with Webby, who carried a suitcase full of Dewey's few business papers and petty cash he insisted on bringing along.
Soon, a ringing alarm blared out, and the entire group was being chased from the halls, but with Gizmoduck's brute strength at the charge, and Louie's skill with ropes and bindings on backup, the group went completely unmolested as they ran towards the hangar, and beyond, the lagoon where the Sea Duck was being moored.
"Get them!" yelled a familiar voice, before a gunshot rang out, only to be deflected by a quick shield from Gizmoduck, "They are escaping!"
Huey looked over and saw the Commodore, jumping up and down from rage. He smiled inside as he ran.
They were soon in the wide cavern containing the Lagoon, and were on their way to the Sea Duck. Suddenly, however, there was a loud snapping noise and several of the lights went out.
There was a wild laughing as a strange figure came flying towards them. The red emergency lights came on just in time for the group to see the Commodore, brandishing his sword and swinging from an electrical wire. He slammed the wire against Gizmoduck, who began to vibrate as the sizzling energy shorted out his suit.
"R-R-R-R-R-Run!" Said Doofus, pointing towards the Sea Duck.
"Gizmoduck!" cried Webby, before she was jerked on by Dewey.
Louie complied, herding the rest of the group on, taking up the bulk of the defense of the group. Soon, Dewey, Webby, and the girls had ran up the back ramp of the Sea Duck. Louie followed them up and did a quick head count, before exclaiming, "Where's Huey?"
All eyes pointed out over an encroaching crowd of SIL, where Huey had tarried by the stunned Gizmoduck, and was squaring off against Perry Kid, a sword in his hand.
"That idiot!" cried Louie, before it became apparent that the approaching SIL crewmen would keep him and the others too busy to go collect his brother. The crack of Scrooge's musket resounded, and the firefight inside the Sea Duck had begun, with the girls ducking inside the Pilot's cabin to keep themselves safe from stray bullets.
Back over towards where Gizmoduck lay, stunned, Huey and the Commodore squared off towards each other, Huey keeping one nervous eye towards the Sea Duck, which was being swarmed by SIL.
"Pay attention to your opponent when you fight him!" cried the Commodore," You insult me!"
"Of heaven forfend I insult you, Junior."
"Your friends are probably already dead now. I knew you weren't to be trusted. The Guilty always run."
"Everyone runs, Junior, if they're being chased."
"Because everyone is guilty, perhaps?"
"Because it's better than being caught."
"You and your brothers have been the thorn in my side long enough, yes no? I am glad to finally be rid of you. To attack in the midst of war..."
"Because of the war, Junior. We've got to stop it!"
"Preposterous. You have no chance to stop it. You're just three men and some women, how could you...?"
"We'll find a way. We'll find some way to stop Farid Kagan... You could help us..."
"This is not how things are done!" screamed the Commodore at the top of his voice, "You do not escape from me! It cannot be for something so noble, swine!"
"Fine, Be that way. Looks like the tides may be turning my way after all." His eyes looked off to the side briefely.
The Commodore followed his gaze, and saw the crowd of SIL suddenly thinning out, with a single black and yellow blur jumping and punching through the crowd, too fast or heavily armored for the men to get a bead on with their guns. PK took down the crowd, helped, soon, by The Green Phantom and Dewey Duck.
"No! No! I cannot be defeated by the likes of you! Enemies of Justice and right!"
"Junior, quiet. You've lost."
"You insist on calling me Junior, because your mentor calls me Junior. Do you know why they call me Junior, do you?" He began to sweat, this confrontation not going as planned, "They say I am the son of Don Karnage, the pirate. They say my whore of a mother conceived of me as he visited and pillaged a Spanish village, his home town. THEY ARE WRONG!" He screamed, brandishing his sword as his speech became more and more unhinged, "A man who would sack his own home town could never be a father to me, who loves Justice and right! The Law is my father, and fair Justice is my mother, and I am it's proud servant! You are an enemy to that end, and for that I will strike you down! Putup your sword, yes?"
Huey looked at the Commodore's sweating, wild-eyed face with a cold smirk, before he dropped the sword to the ground, dropping down into the accepted position of fisticuffs.
"A-ha. You are different. You follow your blood like a sheep. Your anger-addled Uncle has given you a dishonorable preference of combat."
"honor or not. I'm still kicking your ass."
Screaming, the two men came at each other. Kid struck first, swiping his sword. Huey dodged to the right and fired a punch, which struck kid's ribs, but allowed him to try a stab with his cutlass. Circling round, Huey strafed out of the way, peppering the wild, angry man with punches, before finally laying a kick squarely into his ankle. The Commodore cried out, going down to one knee, and trying a wild slice, his mannered, rigid style bedazzled by rules and regulations going out the window in the face of Huey's fists made hard by visits to cities around the globe before he settled in Cape Suzette. He punched, Face, shoulder, face, stomach, each time his face taking on a little bit more of the joy of the fight, and the enthusiasm that comes from knowing he's fighting someone with a measure of skill and still winning.
Finally, The Commodore stood and gave a bellow, letting everything he hated about Huey come out through his voice. His nose began to gush blood into his perfectly white teeth, as he slashed down.
Huey stepped backwards, used to fighting men addled by rage, and waited until the sword was once again raised to the familiar fencing position. He then gave a strong right cross, and aimed for the broad side of the sword.
Snap! Huey punched the sword, and the blade snapped in half near the base from the sheer force of his strike, tested against the steel grip of Perry Kid.
Deprived of a useful weapon, the Commodore dropped the hopeless hilt of the former sword, and raised his own hands to defend himself, before he was struck out with an uppercut to the jaw. He landed a few feet back, and struggled to stay awake, but unconsciousness overtook him all the same.
By this time, Gizmoduck's systems had rebooted, and he was getting up, "What... What happened?"
"Nothing much," said Huey, "Come on!"
The two ran on towards the crowd of SIL, who were dispersing, scared off by the loss of their leader, as well as from the demon who fights them so harshly.
Huey and Gizmoduck ran in, Huey with a big ole smile on his face. His brothers called their frantic salutations to him, but his face was focused on PK, who was finishing up one last SIL goon. It may have been the angle of the punch, or perhaps the stance he displayed while throwing it, but somehow, Huey felt that PK, at this moment, was a familiar, comforting presence, especially considering how similar the way he took care of the goon was to the way he just took care of Junior.
He was mesmerized by PK suddenly, his shape matching up with his memories, calling up someone, One of the most influential people to his personality, and he felt a strange mixture of joy and disgust. He finally knew who PK was, and he couldn't help but feel elated by the knowledge.
"Hey, Huey," said a voice, breaking out of his reverie. Suddenly the rest of the cargo hold registered. The back had been closed and everyone had gathered together around him.
"Get your ass in gear, Kid," said PK, "You've got a plane to fly."
Looking directly into PK's single eye, he blinked, before, in a moment of unbridled happiness, giving him a giant shit-eating grin. "Groovy."
The Sea Duck was soon winding its way through the lagoon, towards the exit. The parcel of sky getting larger and larger as Huey approached it, until it filled the vision beyond the windshield of the plane. Soon, with a bounce, the plane was in the air and the group was off to face their final foe.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
We have reached the Twenties! Hooray!
Lets see. If I stay on track (And don't run chapters together or break them apart or what have you) There are... three more to go. Wow. We've gotten far. It's the FINAL COUNTDOWN.
Thanks for reading this silly fanon-wank story. I'm sure I'll say it many times over the next three chapters, but I do mean it. If you want, spread the word, start a page on TVtropes or something.
Anyway, the most important part: Enjoy yourself.
The Iron Vulture had, in its Port side near the top, a guest quarter of some luxury. Florid tapestries and curtains hung around the room, gilt with inlays of silver and gold in flowering vine patterns that warmed the room when in the presence of natural lighting. Urns and pots from china and India were laid about and kept fresh with flowers and plants to keep the room friendly. The walls were burgundy, and each of the three rooms available had a huge four-poster bed which matched the walls impeccably. Everything in the rooms had the feeling of some age and history, but was well-taken care of.
Louie had taken the rich red curtains down from the top crossbar of the four-poster, and had begun doing chin-ups. Dewey was sitting at a stained Oak drawing table with carved patterns on the sides and drawers, and was doing some calculations on a sheet of stationary that was provided with the room. Huey paced the gold-threaded carpet, looking utterly perturbed.
Dewey, without looking up from his calculations of how much money they have spent on this little excursion, with little lumps in his throat forming when he looked at how much they have spent on gas for the sea duck so far, said, annoyed, "Huey, You're making me nervous. Sit down."
"I don't like it," was the reply.
"You can dislike it while standing in one place... or sitting. Sitting is wonderful."
"Here we are, after running for our lives for over a year and now we've just given ourselves to the guys chasing us..."
"ONE of the guys chasing us. They guys who, if they had caught us, wouldn't have killed us." Dewey looked up. "And what's the big deal? They said they're investigating Farid. They'll find us innocent and we can go on with our..."
"IF they find us innocent. It is still very possible they might not find what they're looking for, or Farid covered his tracks too well."
"You worry too much, Huey."
"I think I'm entitled to some worry, frankly. We're prisoners here..."
"It's a lovely room," said Dewey, "Commodore Kid said it's for statesmen and other guests who come through. We're lucky we're not back in the brig."
"It's a cage all the same," Huey rebuked as he flung himself into a wine-colored armchair, "And we walked right into it."
Louie landed on the ground with a thump, sweat beading on his forehead. He took a sodden towel from the nightstand and wiped himself down. "For what it's worth, Huey's got a point."
"Not you too!"
"It is a cage. It's a very nice cage, but we're still trapped with the SIL. However," He turned towards Huey and smiled, "You shouldn't worry like that."
"And why not?"
"Darkwing, of course. I trust Darkwing to come through for us." He nodded with some finality. "End of story." After speaking this he laid himself out on the bed, stretching the burn out of his muscles, "So, Dewey, what's the damage?"
Huey picked up the meaning. "How much have we spent?"
"Oh! Er." He turned back towards his figures and furrowed his brow. "About ten thousand for airplane fuel, Nearly five hundred thousand in losses from the Bed and Breakfast..."
"You've still got the money from the till, right?" asked Louie, "How much was that?"
"About two million cruzeiro."
"And in American?"
"About ten bucks, and falling." He sighed and continued, "Food for the little revolving door crew... Including that steak dinner AND the bottle of scotch... came to about fifteen thousand dollars. Clothes, repairs for the sea duck, miscellaneous expenses (including gifts and other such luxuries from you to those silly girls, Huey)... This all comes to..."
"Skip it," said Huey, "I don't want to know."
"We're very grateful that you're footing the bill for this little expedition, Huey," said Louie, "It's very nice of you."
"Aw, quiet. I know I've still got close to a septuplepillion thousand centrifugillion left, but still... You should know how losing a chunk that big can affect someone."
" Dewey, maybe, but not you Huey. I thought you were cooler about money."
"I am! I mean... at least... Well, I think it's just a lot of money to lose at once, y'know?"
Louie smiled. Dewey smiled. Neither one could ever comprehend the reason for the other's amusement.
Huey threw his hands up, "Moving along. I still think we should be careful around that Kid guy. I don't trust a guy who is that much into the law."
"Huey. I'm a superhero."
"And illegal superhero, remember. I'm just saying anyone who is that way creepily into the law won't hesitate to turn on us if things don't go our wa..."
But before he could finish speaking, the entire room shook violently. Dewey's chair turned over, spilling him and his money notes on the floor, while Huey and Louie threw themselves to the floor as a simple safety precaution. When the shaking subsided, Louie nearly screamed.
"What was that?"
Huey, however, was already up on his feet, "Come on!" he yelled, before he slammed the door to their room open and ran out. Very soon, he was followed by Dewey and Louie, who didn't bother getting into costume.
Through the air in flew, in defiance of gravity and sense, a giant, bulbous iron balloon, a Zeppelin, which ran at the top, the scarlet tones of the Thembrian flag.
The Bridge of the Iron vulture was in an uproar. Perry Kid sat in the center, a rock among tangled white rapids, as his men ran about, operating consoles and relaying information about the Iron Vulture, the Thembrians, their current strength, their opponent's strength, and the specs of the giant balloon in front of them.
The Commodore held a handheld up to his mouth and began to speak in authoritative tones, his eyes frozen on the quickly approaching Thembrian airship, "Thembrians. You have opened fire upon an SIL craft, and by extension, a S.H.U.S.H-sponsored craft in international air. This could be considered an act of war. I will give you a moment to explain yourselves or surrender. If you do not comply we will blow you out of the sky."
He then listened for some answering noise over the radio, willing them to respond. Soon enough, a Thembrian answered.
"Our fearless leader requires that you surrender Dewey Duck and his entourage. If you do not comply, we will be forced to take them from you by force."
"I order the compliances here, bub. Dewey Duck is in S.H.U.S.H custody. You cannot have him, yes?"
"And he is what we were ordered to collect. Submit or die." There was a rough clicking noise and the line went dead.
The Commodore placed a hand on his forehead, "Oy. These Iron curtain jockeys vex me so. Why is it they cannot act like sane people?"
"It's their society," said a voice behind him, "They believe we're inferior thanks to our different ideologies. Things like that don't fit neatly into that little thing called international law."
A hundred guns were trained on Huey and his brothers as they entered the bridge.
"What are you doing here?" cried Kid, "Get back to your quarters."
"And miss all the action? I think not. We're on this ship, There are women and wounded upstairs, and my employer's potentially very expensive vintage plane is in the hangar. I think we have a right to make sure it gets through this little incident all right."
Pointing a wild finger towards the exit, Perry Kid was about to scream for his men to run them out of the bridge, when a voice lanced through his radio.
"Time is up, dogs! Do you comply or do we take them by force?"
Perry kid looked at the radio with an unhinged look in his eyes, before picking the reciever up in one hand while gesturing for the boys to sit in the corner. "We do no such thing." He slammed the receiver down before screaming, "Aim all guns for the Red Thunder. Fire at will!"
A gunshot rang out, before a man in an SIL uniform ran out of the room screaming, being chased by the thick Rand, holding a musket. The Commodore sighed, and wondered if the sky pirates ever had to deal with idiot crewmen. Huey couldn't help but smirk.
The Zeppelin, the Red Thunder, was a vehicle of East German design which had become widely used in the ever important sky by soviet and soviet-allied military. The modern touch of the vehicle, including new bits added on since the 1940s, made for a terror of the sky. A maneuverable fortress of the sky to rival the airships of the sky pirates used back in the golden day, and for a fraction of the fuel and resources.
The two giants of engineering triumph met in the sky over the Atlantic Ocean a little past noon. The first shot was fired from the great cannons attached to the Red Thunder's side and struck the hull of the Iron Vulture. From there, the two titans entered into a dogfight of legend, the bodies of the two airships circling 'round each other, over and under, trying to gain the superior position. Meanwhile, around their heads buzzed flocks of fighter jets spinning and whirling around their mother ships like lazy flies, firing at one another, and trying to wrest the advantage away from their opponent.
War over the Atlantic raged on well into the day. Wrecks ignited in the air, and fell to the sea like confused fireworks, exploding as they neared the green and blue sea, or smashing into the waves, the force of the blast contributing height and impact to the splash.
Within, the two commanders screamed orders at their men, ordering more, less, forwards, up, down, thinking in a million directions at once for the good of their survival, ideals and ideas and demands flying out the window as the two forces tried to repel and destroy the other.
Eventually, the limited manpower of the Iron Vulture, meant for skirmishes with smugglers and not formal war, began to give out. The jets that were left had to do more with less power, luring the Thembrian airplanes into the paths of the Vulture or Red Thunder's guns, or leading them to ruin by smashing into the sides of one of their parent ships. They fought valiantly, but struggled against the fully armed might of a strong military might wielded efficiently.
The hours had flown by, and the boys were worried. They looked on from their corner of the bridge, looking helpless as the Thembrian contingent bore down, trying to get at them.
"What do they want?" asked Louie.
"They probably heard about your little stunt with Magica Despell," said Huey, smirking, to Dewey, "I wouldn't put it past them."
"Ugh," shivered Dewey, remembering the event. He quickly changed the subject, "What if...? What if they get in?"
"Then..." Huey stretch his arms lightly, and Louie unconsciously adjusted the belt he wore under his clothes. "...We fight them off."
In a frenzy, Perry Kid was standing on his captain's chair and railing at him men. Rage had made him forget his own head and he spoke in mannered, but still angry, Spanish. Huey walked up purposefully.
"You're getting slaughtered out there, Junior."
"And what would you know you Infamous ingrate? I oughta throw you three in the brig just for lookin' at me funny, yes no?"
"I know the air. You're playing right into their hands. Those new zeppelins rely on their large capacity for fighters to protect them while they bombard their targets. You can't fight off their numbers by yourself, not with this disorganized crew."
"My crew is being none of your business Duck!"
"You have to retreat. Cut your losses. Keep us out of danger."
"I will do no such thing! The SIL does not bow to terrorists!"
Their faces had gotten closer and closer as the two men yelled at each other, until another impact on the stern of the Iron Vulture caused Perry Kid to fall over on top of Huey. Interpreting this as a threat, Huey began to fight the wildly flailing coyote, until both were a rolling dust cloud of fists and legs. Soon, the crewmen known as Ein had grabbed his Commodore, sporting a burning black eye, while Louie and Dewey had grabbed Huey, whose face was simply burning red.
"Attack ME will you? Fine!" Huey screamed, "I'll show you. I'll show you how a real man fights off an enemy."
He shrugged off his two brothers - quite hard as well, causing them to fall over on their behinds- and walked out of the bridge.
"Where are you going you silly duck?" Kid yelled.
After a few moments, and a couple more impacts, the Commodore got his mind right. "Damage report!"
"20% damage. One engine disabled."
He nodded, extricating himself from Ein's grip, "Fine. If that rage-blind idiot can show such initiative, then someone with the full force of right should have no problem..."
"Commodore!" yelled a small Chihuahua dog with a pronounced lisp, "There's a commotion in the hangar!"
Dewey and Louie sighed.
"Final Squadrons, ten and eleven, prepare for take-off!"
The Scottie dog with an eyepatch yelled towards the two three-man teams of fighter planes lining up to take off. With his limited peripheral vision, he wasn't able to see the whit fist coming at him from the red-faced duck. He fell to the ground a yard away, knocked out.
There was a commotion as several men opened fire on the duck, who ran towards the closest Jet, painted like a many-toothed monster. The men were ordered to stop firing, not wanting to damage the precious planes. The pilot, however, hadn't heard he order.
Huey climbed up to look at the helmeted pilot , who threw his canopy open and drew a service pistol. Thinking quick, Huey kicked the man's hand, before punching him soundly in the face. Soon, the man's body, stripped of his breathing apparatus and helmet seated firmly on Huey's head, was tossed over the side of the plane like so many bags of potatoes.
"Alright you!" cried Huey into the radio, "Watch and learn!"
"Listen y- URK!" said the voice of the Commodore, cut off.
Louie's voice cut in, "Huey. Do you even know how to pilot one of those things?"
"Uncle Sam wanted me to. Let's see if he was right." He then started it up, ignoring plainly many of the instruments, and relying on his own instincts. The engines roared to life, and his jet sped forward towards the wide open mouth of the Iron Vulture, and into the bright blue of the sky, stained black by clouds of smoke. Huey's back sank into the seat of the jet as his hands kept a steady grip on the control stick. He screamed at the G-forces, not out of weakness, but from sheer willfulness.
Faster than the eye could see the jet was out of the airship's dock and in the air, whirring around, pulling loops around the other, saner planes. There seemed to be some kind of spirit in the plane that caused it to move with almost presentimental grace. It approached the encroaching hoard of Thembrian planes, similar, but so slightly different from it. They fired, which the plane corked and twisted around in the air to avoid, before returning fire. A plane burst into flames from the precise shot, and the rest of the swarm turned away at once, creating a ripple of airplanes out from the exploding one.
Huey gave a yell, not hearing the Commodore scream back at him to turn his radio off to spare them all the fruits of his rage, and chased after the nearest plane. The Tightly packed thembrians seemed like clumsy beetles to his graceful dragonfly. He pulled a loop, firing on several too-slow airplanes, which flared up and fell like stars.
Then they were upon him. A group of aces, three, flying in tight formation. They surrounded him, revolving around him like the orbits of an atom, and firing all the time. Huey had just enough presence of mind to ungulate his plane out of the way and cut a swath out from between the tight teamwork of the three Thembrians.
He was chased through the battle, and the consequences of his wild flying were felt throughout the battle. He swerved across groups of thembrians menacing his temporary allies with the SIL, causing the unaware aces to perforate their own kin. As the three on his tail tried to use their numbers to trap him, he would fly among a group of allies. The aces were chased off by the firing of the few SIL left, and one of them took one right in the canopy, spraying through the air a sprits of blood and glass.
Wary and wise now, the two aces followed behind Huey's plane at a safe distance, trying to outlast him while staying out of the path of his wild guns. Unmolested, Huey was able to take out several more Thembrian jets, and under his actions, the tide of battle had begun to switch.
Desperate now, one of the aces drew close to Huey, intending to end this. Huey clenched his teeth, before pulling up sharp, revealing one of the Iron Vulture's guns. The cannon fired, and the plane, in mid pull-up, was torn right in half by the harsh shell. It looped around lazily, spinning as it fell to the sea, before exploding spectacularly.
Now, one-on-one, Huey looped around behind the last remaining ace who menaced him, firing on the unlucky Thembrian. The two pilots circled 'round, trying to line each other up in their sights. The dogfight dragged on and on, circling and barreling through the air, catching lesser pilots off guard and to an early, watery grave.
Huey gave a yell, the frustration of the fight causing a vein in his forehead to fill to bursting. With a sudden burst of skill, he tipped his plane in an odd maneuver, flying on his side just enough to pass the Thembrian, who panicked and pulled downwards. Huey then pulled up sharply, looping up and around, until the plane was facing downward again, and was lined up right behind the ace. With a single burst of his guns, he sent the last of his ammo into the jet engines of the Thembrian plane, and the entire thing combusted. Huey pulled up before his own nose could be caught in the leaping flames.
He then turned his sights towards the huge, momentarily unprotected Red Thunder zeppelin. He fired, but found that he had exhausted his ammo during the fight. FINE!
He hit the boosters, the throttles, the retros, the whatever-they-were-calleds, and speeded on towards the huge airship. He aimed for the panels in the Iron casing of the balloon that held the monster up, and braced himself for impact.
Watching from the open mouth of the Iron Vulture, the girls, Huey's brothers, Webby and Doofus, and the Commodore watched the jet fly into the oblong target and explode. All at once, the volatile gasses inside combusted, and in a moment, the panels of the balloon were expelled out, dropping into the sea. The Red Thunder was, for a moment, alight in fire, before it was merely an empty, falling frame of its former shape. The cabins and hangar, now unsupported in the air, fell to the ground like a dull rock and broke in half with the impact of the water. They could not see beyond the lip of the Vulture without falling out of the ship, but imagining the drowning crew of the airship was terrible.
The three girls were sobbing, and calling Huey's name.
"He... he couldn't..." said Louie.
"H...Huey..." said Dewey.
Their eyes were wide in shock, looking up towards the spot on the stripped zeppelin where the Jet had crashed and exploded, until the whole skeletal thing sunk out of sight.
After a moment of stunned silence, The Commodore spoke, "Fool."
"Say that again!" Screamed Louie, grabbing the Commodore's fancy coat, "He's not the only one with anger management issues, you know."
"Such common reactions. He has given his life for mine, and I think him for that, yes? But there was certainly a better way."
"Shut up, Commodore," said Dewey, darkly, his right-hand trigger finger twitching unconsciously.
"For example, what about the Parachute?" The Commodore allowed two of his goons to pull Louie roughly off of his jacket, "He did not deploy it, yes? That could have..."
"...Saved my life?" said a voice from the radio, still breathing hard in anger.
"HUEY!" everyone yelled, crowding around the receiver of the radio, trampling the commodore underfoot, before all talking at once.
"Quiet everyone," he said, and they were silent, "I'm coming in, and I need to do something to feel better. Come to the mouth of the vulture and make sure I land safely."
With uplifted spirits, the group ran over as close to the open hangar as they could and lo-and-behold, saw the orange and blue colored SIL parachute holding up the duck, who had his arms crossed. They cheered as the Commodore walked up.
Huey caught sight of the group then, and began to clench his fists. His face was still a mask of rage, the dogfight with an entire airforce platoon not enough to sate his need. As he got closer, those who beheld him began to feel a bit like taking a few steps back.
As Huey was about a yard from the ground, he disengaged the parachute and began to fall. He drew back his fist as he flew to the group. The SIL Men, figuring him to go for the Commodore, pushed him out of the way.
With a final scream, Huey fell towards the ground.
With a single punch, Louie was laid out flat on the ground and skidded over the floor. Dazed, he rubbed his face and groaned, not understanding for a moment what had happened. It wasn't until he was picked up bodily by Huey that he remembered the events of two seconds ago.
"Paul isn't dead! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of! Understand?"
Louie was then dropped unceremoniously on the ground. The Commodore, still buried under a small pile of protective sky-sailors, began to rail at him.
"Where do you get off? I did not give permission to fly off like that! If you hadn't shot down the Red Thunder I would have you under a court martial right now! I would be breaking you under my knee right now, yes no?"
Huey breathed out, his blood pressure returning to normal. He turned towards the commodore, saying, "You're welcome," before walking back upstairs to his quarters.
There was a long silence, before the three girls gave a shout of joy and followed Huey off towards the upper decks. Dewey blinked, before shrugging and beginning to make conversation with the Commodore, now waving the overzealous crewmen off of himself.
"Well now, Commodore. What was that all about?"
"You three taking your sibling rivalry so seriously. Sheesh."
"No, no. I mean the Thembrians. What was that?"
"That, Mr. Duck," began the Commodore, looking at the blue clad Duck with eyes full of a dull hopelessness, "Was an act of world war, and you appear to be right in the middle of it."
Monday, July 13, 2009
I have this horrible feeling that the picture for this chapter and the picture for the last chapter should be switched around, considering this one features Jose and the last one featured Jose, Panchito, and PK all together. But oh well. You can play a game of pretend, and suddenly JoseCariocaHirschfeld.png can go here while 3Caballeros.png went in the last chapter.
Also, is it weird that I basically copied down PK and Jose's usual costumes (Minus PK's hat, of course, that makes guessing his identity way too easy and makes the characters look like idiots, and not in a funny way), but I decided to take liberties with Panchito's? His usual costume looks a bit too fancy for honest ranchwork, so I gave him some leathers instead.
Anyway, this chapter and the next chapter were going to be a single chapter, until I actually got to the end of this one and I felt it appropriate to end it there. Enjoy!
In the fields, among grazing cows and surly ranch hands on horseback, the Sea Duck stood inert, tamping down the grass where its landing gear met the turf. Spread out beside the great yellow bird was a rough brown blanket, with sets of old but well-loved tools laid out. The front engine block of the Sea Duck in the nose was open, and Huey, having stripped off his leather jacket and undershirt and tied them off around his waist, was covered in sweat from the hot day and oil from the plane he was taking care of. Nearby, down to his shirt-front and holding his jacket in his arms while fanning himself with his hat, stood Louie in civilian garb. The extent of his injuries seemed to be healed, with nothing but a lingering ache in the ribs, and even then only when jumping from building to building.
The shirtless Huey stood up straight. While his upper body had seemed larger to Louie when they had first met after all these years, he understandably had had few chances to pay any real attention to things like that since the days of the Baiano pousada. Louie was a little irked, frankly, that Huey had been able to bulk up so much by flying planes and getting into fistfights, while he, who did exercises every morning after work, and was supremely active during the night besides, had still retained the lithe form natural to Ducks and their ilk.
Huey went on with their conversation, "He's still alive, Louie. That's just stupid."
"Paul McCartney is dead, Huey, you can't argue with the evidence," said Louie, annoyed at his brother's ignorance, "Cover of Abbey Road, the backwards messages in 'Strawberry Fields' and 'Revolution 9.'" He whispered low, with the timber of a conspirator, "'I buried Paul.' 'Turn me on, dead man.' How do you argue that?"
"He's still putting out Records, Louie. Why would this... what's the imposter's name supposed to be again?"
Louie tapped his head, as if imparting some crucial clue, "William Shears Campbell, Huey. Billy Shears."
Huey rolled his eyes, "Right, so if that band broke up last year, why would... Billy, want to continue the charade?"
Louie shrugged, "To use Paul's good name to launch a solo career I guess. He's going to do it too." Louie nodded, satisfied that his point had been made, "Paul was killed in a car crash during Sergeant Pepper, I can't see how anyone can see it differently."
"See, this is why I liked the Stones better," said Huey, "Beatles fans are so pretentious."
Louie growled, his brow creasing in frustration. "Philistine."
"I know what I like, and I don't like having to see stupid little messages in everything I listen to. What's the point? Can't you just enjoy the music?"
"Of course I enjoy...!" Louie stopped, sighing, "I don't even know why I try. It's always like this when we talk about the Beatles."
"When you talk about the Beatles," said Huey, diving into the engine block wielding a wrench, "you always bring it up. They broke up, they're gone, live with it."
"They might make a comeback!" Louie said, "anyway, Lennon is keeping the flame alive, even if he is with that woman. I wish I wasn't stuck in the middle of nowhere. I hear he put out a new album. There probably isn't a record store for a few thousand miles in any direction."
"I always found Lennon too... I dunno... spiteful," said Huey, "Like he would look at his fans and thing, 'They're so stupid.'"
"Not spiteful!" Louie sneered, "Above it all. Anyway, what do you know? You don't even listen to them."
"Of course I listened to them. You wore out three copies of Sergeant Pepper making everyone in the house listen to them. Everyone was sick of it by the time the third one died."
"You have to agree that after that, all bets were off. It was the first truly new thing to happen in music in years!"
"Yes, maybe the first three thousand times. After that it starts to get old."
"Pah!" called Louie, falling silent as Huey turned back towards the engine. Finally, his eyes lit up. A rebuttal so perfect, so cutting, that it comes only once in a lifetime!
"Huey!" Cried the Carioca girls as they ran up. "Huey!"
"...Oh, shit," said Louie, letting the epic burn fade away.
"Oh. Hi girls," said Huey, his smile and grace attaining a bit of masculine posturing, although with the slightest bit of confusion as to which of the girls he should direct his charm towards, "What's up?"
With rehearsed perfection, all three girls, with bright smiles, pointed towards the sky.
"Ha-ha," Louie said, thinking it so cute he might just kill himself, "There's no talking to you about some things, Huey. I'm out of here."
"You'll be back," Huey smirked, "I'm all you got. Farmhands wouldn't know 'Hey Jude' from a hole in the wall, and Dewey hasn't listened to music since 1959."
Louie had already started off, however, "Whatever." And he was gone.
Huey laughed, and turned back towards the girls, who each echoed his jolly smile as they swarmed over him, twining their arms in his.
"So. Uh. What did you girls want, exactly?"
Amalia smiled and looked to Maria. Maria took the smile, amplified it with a giggle, and passed her gaze along to Rosalina. Rosalina gave them both a smirking look, before turning back towards Huey.
"Ah. Well," said Huey, their strange wordless communication reminding him of how he and his brothers used to be, and marveling that three girls who had grown up apart from one another could learn the trick, "I'm, er, almost done tuning up the Sea Duck. Would any of you like to join me for some supper?"
A hand, he wasn't quite sure whose, rubbed its hand through his bare chest.
"We would like that," said Rosalina.
Huey smiled, wondering which one it was who touched him, wondering if the girls were aware of the fact that since Bahia they had gone to bed with Huey at least twice, each, and wondered how angry they would be at him and each other if they ever found out. He then thought of their Uncle-slash-father. He then thought of his own corpse, with Panchito standing over it, whooping and hollering.
The thought caused him to laugh quickly and break away from the three amorous girls and bend over the engine block to hide his sudden fear, "I'll, er, meet you kids at the tavern. Okay?"
"Okay, Huey," they all said, before each blowing a kiss, causing Huey to panic once again. Which one should I do something cute with?
Thankfully, they were gone before the imaginary kisses flying through the air could land on their marks, and Huey breathed a sigh of relief. As utterly exciting as this situation was, it couldn't be good for his blood pressure.
He finished up the tune up on the engine, just a few tightened, ancient components, and he was free to join the girls at the Tavern, where there was sure to be some lovely stew or other waiting for them.
He turned as a cloud passed overhead, blotting out the sun. He looked up on a whim, and found that clouds have gotten a lot darker and closer to the earth since he was a kid.
A young woman with a bright red pattern of feathers placed two mugs of cool, frothing beer on the table, before placing between them a small glass of water.
"Thanks," said Dewey, sitting at a table with José and Panchito, looking perfectly miserable, "Now tell me, you two, where did PK run off to?"
"Why do you think we would know?" said José, after a puff of his thick cigar, "He is as an enigma to us as much as he is to you, Dewey."
"As you went into the fire to chase the Weetch, he seemed to just vanish away."
Dewey closed his eyes and fingered his water glass. His other hand seemed to hover over the center of his chest. "Huey and Louie said as much. I was hoping you two..." He shook his head, "Nevermind. I just wish I could get a bead on that guy. First he beats up Louie, then he helps us find Fenton Crackshell, and then helps us against Magica DeSpell. Even if he is on our side, all the same, Panchito, I'd like your men to be on the lookout for him. He's probably still around."
The three drank in silence, Panchito with relish, José with a mind full of wistful remembrance of cachaça, and Dewey with annoyance at the apparent ignorance of his allies, when he was so sure he remembered them and PK acting almost like old friends.
"By the way, Dewey," asked Panchito, innocently, "Where is Webby? She and you are nearly never seen apart for so long."
"She..." He looked down into his water, "She, uh. She's taking care of Doofus."
"The big guy?" said José, his face expressing the distaste of someone watching a soap opera where his favorite characters do not end up together, "That is... nice of her."
"They... We used to be old friends before we grew apart. Apparently, Webby was friends with him a little longer than we were."
"Of course," Said José, "Panchito, I regret to ask, but could you leave us alone for just a moment?"
Panchito looked towards the sullen Duck and the concerned parrot and understood, "Say no more, amigo." He then stood, taking his drink and walking over to a burly crow who led the guard patrols.
"What's this about, José?"
"I would like to speak of matters of love, Dewey."
Dewey started, blinking as his head rose quickly. He turned towards José's smirking, knowing face, before he darted his eyes away, afraid looking at the green parrot might reveal something untoward. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Some men drink, some men write poetry, some men sulk. Alcohol and paper cost money, so I made a nice guess." José placed a hand on Dewey's shoulder, "You are in love my frien'."
"I... It's not... she's my personal assistant, I just miss her... uh... organization."
"I did not mention Webby. I only mentioned love."
"Oh! Oh..." he crossed his arms, "Well that's ridiculous."
"This new Doofus fellow is getting you down."
"He... Well... They seem to act... Together they seem... I don't know. I don't want to talk about it."
He and Dewey sat for another moment, drinking.
Dewey spoke up, filling the trap of silence José had left, "I know they were friends and all, but... they act like they have... a past together or something."
"Perhaps they do."
"Yes, but... Webby is..." He sighed, "How do I...?"
"Courage, Dewey. You can fight back. You and she hev' been together too long now and through too much..."
"I..." He tried to look positive, "I guess so."
"The only thing holding you back from her is yourself, not that Doofus fellow."
"I... You're... José, I..."
But suddenly, the door to the tavern swung open, letting the bright sunshine into the bar. The shadow that stood in the frame was of a duck. Dewey stood.
Huey Duck spoke, "Don't get up on my account." He began to walk forward, his hands up in the air. He was being followed by another figure, "We've got company."
The glint of the sword pointed towards the duck's back caused every gun in the tavern to be drawn.
"Ah-ah-ah!" said this new man's voice, "One wrong step and I am running him through, yes?"
Panchito raised his hand and gave a signal, and every man, woman, and child in the tavern lowered his or her pistol.
"Thank you very much for your co-operation," said the voice, stepping into the light of the tavern.
Dewey yelled, "Commodore...!"
"So glad you remember me, Mr. Dewey Duck, fugitive. We have been tracking you for quite some time."
"No!" Dewey cried, "No. Not now."
Perry Kid rolled his eyes, "Aw don't get all upset. I'm not here to arrest you." He planted a fancy boot in Huey's back and pushed, sending him to the ground. He then sheathed his sword, "I am here with my crew on behalf of S.H.U.S.H. The investigation on Mr. Farid Kagan is underway."
Huey and Dewey perked up suddenly. Huey crawled away slightly before standing to his feet and turning. "Why didn't you say so? You didn't have to...!"
"Because I still do not like you, and it was well within my legal options. Yes no?" He smiled deviously.
"What are you doing here then?" said a voice from behind Perry Kid. Kid looked behind to see The Green Phantom standing behind him, face painted mask obscuring his face, hands hovering over his utility belt.
"It seems I am surrounded," the coyote said with a smile, raising his arms, "It is all right, yes? S.H.U.S.H merely wants you all taken into custody..." a twitch of guns and gadgets, "No! No! It's not like that. You have been... partially absolved."
"You mean...?" said Dewey.
"They think we're innocent?" finished Huey.
"Maybe! In any case, I am required to take you in peacefully. I do not get to start shooting unless you refuse." He looked to Dewey. "Please refuse."
All eyes turned to Dewey. He crossed his arms slowly, before nodding. "If it will help S.H.U.S.H's investigation, we will be happy to cooperate." He looked up, "But only us three. The others have nothing to do with it."
"No!" said a voice at the top of the stairs. Webby ran down, followed by Doofus, "If you're taking Dewey, I'm coming too."
"Webby?" said Dewey, "Webby. Don't..."
"No. I'm coming, and that's final."
"Me too!" said Doofus, his shoulder appearing to be nearly fully healed.
Seemingly from nowhere, the three Carioca girls had appeared from somewhere, and had latched onto Huey.
José smiled, but with a note of pain beyond the jolly façade, "Ahh. Youth."
"Well. Such a big family," scoffed the Commodore, "Very well. Within the hour Dewey Duck." He then came face to face with the Green Phantom, "To one side, yes no?"
Louie moved out of his way, letting him out the door.
All members of the group gathered in the middle of the room wordlessly. Hope sprang among them. This was their chance to finally stop running. Their chance to be safe and secure for once. Louie thought of Saint Canard, and of climbing and swinging among tall buildings. Huey thought of the sky, and the Cape, and the world. Dewey thought of his business, and what he would do once it was once again his.
Nodding their heads in agreement, they each dispersed their separate ways to pack up and prepare for the long trip to the SIL home base.
Chattering among themselves, the three girls packed three small bags filled with as many supplies as they could fit. Their conversation meandered on about nothing, pointedly ignoring the big move they were about to take. The closet of their small room in the tavern, filled with nothing much but a few extra dresses, was stripped bare and each color dress was shuffled off to the bag to the appropriate girl.
There came a knock at the door, and the girls smiled. They ran towards their places. Amalia draped herself over the small chair like a duvet, pulling a strap off of her shoulder and letting his hang. Maria sat on the floor, to read a book, her legs curved out under her. Rosalina took the bed, lying on her stomach in such a way that the cavernous canyon formed by her breasts was accentuated by being squished between her body and the mattress. The three girls nodded towards each other, before they each said, "Come in!"
The door opened, and the girls looked their sexiest, and were momentarily disappointed when it turned out to be their Uncle Carioca and not Huey Duck. The three of them switched their language to Portuguese.
"Hello Tio Carioca," they said, easing into more comfortable, less sexy positions.
"Hello girls," said José as he walked in supported by his umbrella, cigar between his fingers, "I'd like to speak with you."
Amalia stood up from the chair, allowing José to sit. The girls surrounded their uncle, looking up at him with familial adoration.
"What about, Tio Carioca?" asked Rosalina.
José began to look a bit uncomfortable. "You see, girls. It... You all are going away from me, and I don't know if I shall ever see you again." The girls began to speak all at once, and José raised a kindly hand to silence them, "I don't wish to lie to you girls any longer. I think you are old enough to know of the truth."
"What is this about, Tio Carioca?" asked Rosalina, laying her hands on José's arm.
To stall for time, José let out a sigh of smoke from his cigar, "It is... about your parents. Your mothers, all of them, are beautiful, wonderful women, and your fathers are... are good, honorable men that I do not deserve to call my cousins." His hand was trembling suddenly, and he grabbed the arms of the chair tightly to try to stifle the motion. "I... I knew them all well and... and I'm sorry to say that I have done your father's a great disservice. I... I am somewhat of a lecherous man, I think. I always have been. That is why I never married, you see. Too many women, even in my advanced age, I cannot stop myself." He looked at the girls and shook a finger, "You must never fall in love with a man like me, my little ones. He will break your heart."
"Yes, Tio Carioca," said the girls dutifully.
"Is that what you wanted to say?" asked Rosalina, "Is this about Huey?"
"No! No no. Huey is a good man to be sure. I talk about... I talk about myself. You see..." beads of sweat appeared at his brow, "You see, girls, I... I am... Your Mothers were very dear to me, and I, well, I..."
He stopped as he felt three dainty hands lay themselves over his own wrinkled hand gently. He looked into the faces of each of his daughters, so alike to him, and yet with their basic feminity making them so different. Each of them smiled kindly.
They each spoke in turn, "Our mothers" "Told us" "Tio Carioca."
"Then... you already know?" his eyebrows raised up and crinkled in remorse, "That I am...?"
José stood suddenly, taking a pained drag on his ever-present cigar, "Then... Then you must think I'm..." He leaned on the wall to the room, laying a hand on his him. "I... I feel terrible about what I did to them. Your mothers and fathers. I can't help but... You must hate me for what I have done to you."
Running up to José, Amalia was the first to speak in the beautiful excesses of language, "No! Tio Carioca, we all love you. We will always love you. Your visits to our homes were some of the best memories of our lives. When our mothers told us about you, they did not tell us in regret or rage. They said so in the wistful remembrance of a love long past. They love our fathers, but they adored you, who gave them their greatest nights of romance and passion. And we owe you a debt of gratitude. We three grew up apart as cousins and dear friends and pen pals, but when we were told we were suddenly all daughters of José Carioca, and while we will always love our fathers as fathers, we will always love you for tying us together as sisters."
The three parrot girls gave their uncle a great hug, all together. As they embraced, José could feel his eyes mist over from a swell in his chest, an overflow of gorgeous emotion that he had never felt before. A feeling of fatherly love, rather than mere affection as he had felt before, had come over him, and he couldn't help but wipe away his rapidly forming tears.
"Rosalina," he said, touching her face, "Maria," and hers, "Amalia," and hers, "I... thank you. I cannot believe I have never been as happy as I am at this moment." He encircled the three girls in a strong embrace, which they reciprocated, wrapping their arms around him and each other. "I... I only wish I had more time..."
A knock at the door. Webby's voice called, "Almost time to go, girls. Get ready."
"Must you?" asked José, "Must you leave now?"
Rosalina nodded. "If we don't follow Huey now, Tio..."
Maria continued, "...We'll regret it..."
"..For the rest of our lives," finished Amalia.
José, a great believer in life, and taking advantage to it to the fullest, understood his three daughters perfectly. It was too late for him to be their father, and too late for the three blossoms in spring to stay cooped up with him until he was ready to let them go. They had to chase after their love, by any means necessary, just as he had in his turbulent, amorous, fantastic youth.
"Then... I give my blessing. I may not be able to speak for your own parents, but I can speak for myself," he loosened his grip and looked at the girls, noting that their cheeks and beaks were stained with tears as well, "Go. Go to him. Chase after him. Have the time of your lives. And I only have one request."
"What is it..." "...Tio..." "...Carioca?"
"When you are ready, you come back to me, and tell me all of your adventures." He nodded, wiping his eyes, satisfied at what had occurred here today, "Now go. Don't let me see you again until you have lived."
With a kiss, each girl left the green parrot alone in the room, taking her bag and departing without as much as a second look. Amalia was the last to leave, and she gave a strained, "Goodbye" as she exited into the hall and towards life.
José watched the empty doorframe for a long time after that, hoping perhaps, that somehow they would have a change of heart. He waited, even as he heard the distant sounds of the Sea Duck's engines roaring to life and taking off to meet the Iron vulture in mid-air. Eventually, however, he sat down, his eyes dry and strong. He took his cigar, which had burnt down to nothing but a stubby roach, and put it out on an ashtray on a table by the chair.
He knew that his part in this adventure was over, somehow, and that the part he had played for the Duck boys and PK, and all the rest was over. He could go back to Bahia, try to rebuild the bed and breakfast there, or perhaps go back to the hotel in Rio if it is still there. He had some money squirreled away, perhaps he should finally rest on his laurels. Retire, perhaps, live somewhere and await the return of his girls with the stories of their youth. He was too old to marry, and soon would be too old for the alternative, so perhaps he should just stop.
But then he thought of his time with the Sea Duck; His time in Bahia, dealing with the personalities of the three boys, each so full of life and regrets and futures in their own way. He thought back on Panchito, doing what he loved to do, and still ready and able to at an even higher age than himself. He thought of his friend Donald...
No. Never retire, He thought, When the girls come back to me, they will bring me stories of their adventures, and I will pay them right back with stories of mine!
He smiled to himself, reaching into the pocket of his coat for another cigar. He thought dimly that he might need to give that up soon, with thoughts of his health looming over his head. However, he lit it up anyway. If he was to live life as his girls were, he would live all of it. Good and bad. He stood quietly and walked out the door, down towards the front room of the tavern. Soon he would go back to Rio and use what he has learned from Dewey to remake his hotel as a successful venture. Perhaps he will build a stage and give floorshows every now and again. In the meantime, however, a dear friend was downstairs, waiting to be entertained in the here and now. He could not disappoint, not as long as he was alive.
"Alright Junior, open up. We're coming in," said Huey into the CB.
"What is the magic word?" Asked that Spanish inflected voice.
" Alright Junior, open up. We're coming in, Motherfucker," answered Huey dryly.
There was a momentary growl that was cut off mid-tone as Kid began to speak, "You will watch your step around me, Mr. Duck, yes no? Remember how soundly you were thrashed the last time we came face to face, remember. Do not tempt me."
After a pause, the CB went dead, and the Iron Vulture began to open up. Huey smiled and pointed the nose into the large airship. This was the home stretch, it had to be.
And even if it's not, what a ride!