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a-christmas-carol-from-hr · 7 months

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Lying awake, intently tuning in on you If I was young, it didn't stop you coming through [Marley's Ghost]

TW: tw: body horror, freaky tech stuff

A/N: We can't rewind, we've gone too far/Pictures came and broke your heart/Put the blame on VCR...

AKA the entirety of the Marley's Ghost scene from my project, a_christmas_carol.exe! Happy Halloween!

The rain only increased as Scrooge made her way home from the office. This Christmas Eve had dawned gray and seemed determined to end black. The wind blew with all the fury of a cyclone. The rain lashed at her face, as sharp as glass. More than once Scrooge had to stop to clear her glasses, and the chill that set in from lack of motion was enough to chill even her blood. Smoke hissed out of potholes as she passed, adding an uneasy fog to the night air that whispered and shifted with each drop, cold meeting hot with an unholy hiss.

The doors to Scrooge’s apartment building were remarkably high-tech. Sealed shut from any trespassers, any tenants had to have the door unlocked via face recognition software. For a particularly unsociable woman, it suited Scrooge well. But it was notoriously finicky, and this cold evening Scrooge had no desire to be locked out. She pulled the hood of her rain jacket down, glowering into the camera.

“Good evening!” Came the automated response. “Please look into the camera!”

“I am.” Scrooge responded, although she knew it’d have no effect.

“I’m sorry! I can’t seem to get a clear image of your face. Could you please try again.”

“It’s I, you damned thing. Let me in!”

The computer gave no response. The camera focused on her, and she heard an audible click. And then, in that chipper tone, it spoke:

“Good evening, Mr. Marley! We’ve not seen you these past two-thousand, five-hundred and fifty-five days! We’ve not seen you these past five-five-five-five-five-five-.”

Scrooge jolted back, mouth agape. For a moment, she was at a loss for words.

“Good evening, Ms. Scrooge! Welcome back!”

The doors unlocked.

For a moment she simply stared at the monitor. She blinked, and adjusted her glasses. And then:

“Nonsense.”

She pushed her way through the door. Scrooge told herself the hairs on the back of her neck were only standing up from the cold.

It wasn’t in Scrooge’s nature to drink. Drunkenness led to foolishness, and Scrooge was not a fool. At most she would have a glass of the cheapest vintage offered when pressed by a business associate. Even then, she drank only because social mores required it of her, not from any pleasure.

But the incident at the door had rattled her nerves more than she’d admit to herself. As she slipped off her jacket and slipped on her house-shoes, the desire for a stiff drink to calm herself came over her.

The apartment Scrooge lived in had once belonged to her partner. Her partner had been more inclined to drink than she was, for what little that was. Marley had a taste for vodka. The cheap stuff, of course, but the bottles that remained in her apartment would serve well enough. She found one of the bottles under the television stand. She’d never redecorated after she moved in. Marley’s furniture suited her needs fine, and anything of his that was not useful was either shoved into a closet or into boxes. Not that he had many things that weren’t of use. The two, Marley and Scrooge, were birds of a feather.

The burn of the cheap vodka made her wrinkle her nose in distaste, but she poured it into a chipped glass. Scrooge moved through the apartment, one hand holding the glass while the other unbuttoned the first few buttons on her blouse. She sat down on her couch, idly reaching for her laptop while she raised the glass to her mouth. She took a single sip and then spat it back out into the glass.

“God damn you, Jacob Marley,” She gasped.The vodka tasted of blood. “What the fuck kind of shit did you buy!?”

Her laptop let out a strange noise before the screen turned an electric blue. Scrooge groaned. “Fabulous. Just what I need.” She held down the start button, putting aside the vodka in disgust.

The computer turned off and then after a moment turned off again. She didn’t think she’d pressed the start button, but she supposed she must have. The login screen loaded, and Ellen quickly typed her credentials.

ACCESS DENIED, The screen blared.

“What!?” Ellen growled. She entered the information again. Still, she was locked out.

ACCESS DENIED. SYSTEM IN USE BY ADMIN JMARLEY.

The hairs on the back of Scrooge’s neck stood up. Suddenly, the apartment seemed very quiet indeed.

She stared at it for a moment before slamming the screen shut. “Stupid fucking thing.” She muttered. It was broken, clearly. It had to be.

As she put aside the laptop, she must have pressed the television remote. She had to have. Because it suddenly lit up, shocking Scrooge enough to make her jolt.

“The BBC reports that hunger, poverty, and wealth inequality is at a level high this Christmas-.” A clipped voice rang out.

“Bullshit.”

Scrooge jabbed the remote. The screen went dark. She gave a jerking nod, satisfied. That would put an end to this. Ellen leaned against the couch and closed her eyes. After a moment she allowed herself to lean over, curling up on the uncomfortable cushions. Despite inheriting many pieces of furniture from her late partner, Ellen Scrooge always slept on the couch. Taking up the whole bed was a waste. Besides, she didn’t feel she’d particularly earned a good night’s sleep. Not with the fuss of today.

Silence hung in the room like a garland. Darkness stood conquering like a warhero, and Scrooge began to drift off into an uneasy sleep.

The soft sound of static shivered through the room, stirring her just enough to awaken. Scrooge opened her eyes as the room was filled with light. She jolted.

The television had turned on. A newscaster, dressed in the most garish of suits, grinned at Scrooge with a rictus smile.

“Some say that the end is nigh? Is it truly?” The host asked, smiling all the while. The image flickered, but the smile stayed bright.

“The end is nigh?” He repeated. The screen glitched. Scrooge leaned forward.

“What the…?”

The screen went bright white. The image vanished. Scrooge jolted back, eyes screwed up from the brightness. Through slitted eyes, she saw the outline of a body on the screen. There was a horrible sound, like liquid squelching through the mud.

And then, reader, the first of four miracles happened.

A hand appeared on the inside of the glass, pressed up against the screen. And then it pushed it’s way through, literally bursting through the television set like a bug bursting from a membrane. Scrooge screamed, falling into her couch and scrambling to escape. Another hand burst through, reaching out to pull itself forward. A head and torso emerged behind it, and then legs, and then…

Then wires.

The thing floated above the television set. It was a sinewy figure, the angles of its once-well cut suit jutting starkly against its thin flesh. The darkness of its clothing was contrasted by the palor of its face. It seemed like a creature that existed only in black and white, like some Universal Movie monster. It was bound in electrical wires, some buried into its flesh, some simply wrapped around its frame, but they held the figure tight. Some trailed off into the air, but others remained tethered to the television set. As if the creature was bound to it.

It moved through the air, lowering itself to hover just in front of her. Its face faced her own, but its expression was totally blank.

“Who are you?” Scrooge whispered. It gave no reply.

“What are you?”

The TV flashed, and the creature shrieked. The wires sparked, shocking the thing’s entire form. The thing’s eyes opened, as if electricity had powered it up. It wailed, and Scrooge nearly screamed in turn. This thing was in agony, and she could almost feel it. Its eyes stared out in undisguised misery. They stared into her own, and as Scrooge watched in horror, they began to weep. Liquid like the RGB feed from a television dripped from its eyes. It poured down their face, dripping off and vanishing into the air like static.

It tilted its head at Scrooge, looking at her with those awful, awful eyes. When it spoke, its voice sounded as if it were coming through the television set, like some half-garbled recording of a long forgotten program. “Ask me who I was.”

The creature’s voice was warped by pain and static, but Scrooge knew it. She knew it as well as she knew her own, even though she’d not heard it these seven years.

Jacob Marley had been her partner. She’d known him for ages, had known him as she knew herself. He’d not been inclined to numbers as she was, so he handled the advertising. The technology. The man was a worshiper of television. He had no greater god than what could be sold in a few soundbites. There’d been no man alive who understood the art of technology in their business.

“Impossible…” She murmured even as she pulled herself to her feet. Impossible, but she saw it now. Marley was warped by his terrible form, but she could see him under it. The cut of the suit, the frame of the body and face. Marley stared at her, eyes filled with purpose even through his tears. Indeed he seemed to pay the dripping of his eyes no attention as he glided forward, drawing ever closer to her.

Impossible, but there was nobody else it could be. Even after seven years, even after death, she could see traces of the man that was in this thing. The line of a jaw, the set of a mouth.

Jacob Marley. Dead these past seven years. Dead of a stroke that killed him in their offices. As dead as a doornail.

But here all the same.

“…Can you sit down?” Stupid. She wasn’t even sure why she said that. But what else did you say when your dead partner crawled out of your TV set. Marley didn’t seem offended in any case. Though he gave no response, Marley pulled one of the cords around his shoulder and tossed it. The force moved him forward and he glided towards the armchair. For a second Scrooge fancied he might collapse right through it, but the spirit fell heavily into the seat. It seemed to relish the relief. Electricity sparked along its wrists, digging painfully into the flesh, but he didn’t seem to notice.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment. An eternity of words went unsaid, unfelt. For a moment Scrooge felt something. But she quickly stifled it, shoving it down into the locked chest she kept her memories of Marley.

“This isn’t happening.” She said flatly.

Marley didn’t look surprised as she rose to her feet and turned away. “This isn’t happening.” She repeated. “This is a dream. A hallucination. This…this is not happening to me.”

“You don’t believe in me.” Marley replied. His voice was like a radio stuck between stations. She heard echoes of other words, other voices, but they were too faint to make out.

“Fuck no.”

“Why not?”

“…I don’t know.” She admitted.

“Then why doubt at all?” He asked. A thread of electric current ran along his forehead, throbbing like a vein might have in life.

“Because this could be anything. I’ve not checked my carbon monoxide detector in…ever.” As she listed explanations, Scrooge’s bravery grew. “Yes. Yes. The alcohol. All bottled after Chernobyl. This could be a cocktail of monoxide and radiation. Yes. Yes.” She leaned forward, fairly spitting her words at Marley. “Yes. Yes! That’s what you are! All a trick of the mind! All style, no substance!”

Marley rose up, the electricity along his wires flashing with a fury. He dug his fingers into his face, clawing at his cheek as he howled in anguish. His spectral nails drew more of his technicolor blood, the magenta and cyan of his grief sharp against his skin. His shriek seemed to bring with it the grief of ten-thousand lives, his blood the pain of ten-thousand bodies. Marley wailed and bled, and Scrooge felt her very soul falter.

“Stop it! Stop it!”

“DO YOU BELIEVE IN ME OR NOT!” Marley shrieked.

“I do! I do! Stop it!” She begged.

With one final howl Marley ceased to scream, but the gashes from his nails continued to bleed, mixing with his ever-flowing tears. Scrooge could not remember ever seeing Marley cry, but it seemed in death he could not help but weep. Something wet dripped down her own face, and she wiped it away.

“Jacob,” A name reserved for moments of something that had barely existed. “Marley.” She corrected. “Why are you here? Why are you like this?”

“Because I earned it.” Marley replied, voice dripping with pain and regret. A line of current twitched over his heart.

“All mankind is asked to do in life is to help. To go among our fellow man, and do what little we can do. I did nothing. My spirit never went beyond in life, so I go in death.” Marley let out a small wail, a noise half-static and half-misery.

“How could I have been so blind! So STUPID!” He roared. The wires flashed again and he screamed again, this time in pure agony. Scrooge pressed herself further against the couch.

“You are bound in wires, why!?”

“I earned these wires, ounce by ounce and yard by yard. I earned this damnation every day of my life.” Marley took one in hand, and thrust it towards her. “Do you know it, Ellen Scrooge? Yours were as long as mine seven christmas eves ago. Oh, you are an industrious soul, Ellen Scrooge. You have worked on yours.”

“No more, no more. You…" Scrooge began weakly. "You cannot be- Damned? Why should you be damned? You were a good man- of business."

"BUSINESS!?"

The television set blasted to life, the light blinding in its fury. Marley rose again, and the scream he let out was worse than the first. He howled at her, his wordless expression of rage cutting her to her soul. She tried to jump up, tried to flee, but suddenly his hands were in her shirt and he was pulling her to face him.

His eyes, her partner's eyes, saw her and they hated.

"MANKIND WAS MY BUSINESS. THE COMMON WELL-FARE WAS MY BUSINESS. MERCY. CHARITY. KINDNESS. ALL MY BUSINESS." His voice grew more warped by static as he screamed, to the point she could barely understand him. Ellen managed to pull herself free, the burning sensation of static still lingering in her skin. She scampered over the other side of the couch, desperate to put as much space between Marley and her as she could. This was not her Marley. This was not her Marley.

For a moment, the ghost seemed to reach for her again. Scrooge flinched away, raising an arm in defense. He stared at her, and then looked at its hands. While the fury was still there, it was fading into something else. Something like regret. I’m afraid of him, she realizes with a shudder. I’m afraid of him. How can I be afraid of him?

"Do you have any idea what this is like, Elle?" He asked. For a moment, it sounded like his own voice. His living voice. “Do you have any idea how much this hurts, Elle? Have you any idea of the length of your own chain? It was as long as this seven Christmas Eves ago, when you burned me all alone, Elle."

His words struck her to the core. She’d have preferred he go back to yelling rather than say that. “I…it was the best choice. The economical choice.” She said weakly, trying to defend something she did not believe herself. “I thought it’d be what you wanted…”

“I was all alone, Elle.” He said. His voice had always been what she admired most about Marley. He had been gifted with a gilded tongue. The man could sell ice water in the Arctic with his tenor. And now it was so small. So pathetic. “I was all alone. You left me, all alone. You put me in there, all alone. Why did you do that?”

His sincerity struck her like a knife in her back. She forced herself to rally. “I will not be judged. You’re the one who went and died. Not me. Have you any idea the chaos you left behind?” She moved forward, stepping towards the ghost with all the rage she could muster. It did not flinch back. “You died, in the middle of the last Quarter, in our fucking OFFICE. There was an inquiry, Marley! The police had eyes all over the building. It was weeks before anything could be done. You left, and you have the nerve to yell about things not done?! You wanted attention!? Goddamn your attention! You ruined everything! Be thankful I didn’t throw you in the Thames!”

The venom she spat her last words with surprised even Ellen. It certainly seemed to surprise Marley. His expression flickered, something like grief passing through his face. But she was in no mood to coddle a roaming spirit. She turned furiously, looking out the window. Her arms crossed over her chest, a habit she had while thinking. “What do you want?”

The spirit stayed where she left it. “I have obtained for you a deal. A chance at avoiding my fate.”

“How touching. Would I get my own wires too, or shall we share?” She laughs humorlessly. “But, thank you, Jacob.” She spat his name scornfully. “You always did have an eye for a bargain.”

“The price paid for redemption is not a cheap one.”

“Naturally, if you arranged it. What’s the cut for you, hm?” She said turning around.

“Nothing.” He replied.

“You get the whole price?”

“I get nothing,” He said with all the finality of the grave. “It is too late for me, Ellen.”

Despite her rage, despite her disbelief, and despite her coldness, something in his tone of simple, grieved acceptance chilled her to the bone.

“You have three more appointments for tonight,” He said. “I suggest you prepare yourself.”

“Oh, with who? Let me guess. A psychologist who shall ask me all the ways my father was cruel to me? A lawyer who will read me my rights as I walk into hell?”

“You will be visited,” Marley said. “By three ghosts.”

“…Ghosts?” Ellen asked.

“Yes.”

“And is that the chance of salvation?”

“It is.”

“…Keep it. I’ve had enough of ghosts.”

She turned her back on him again. But this time, Marley was not so daunted. The second he was out of sight, she felt his presence at her back. With an electric hiss, a wire snaked over her chest. She gasped in pain as it fell with a weight on her body, on her heart, on her soul. Heavy. So heavy.

Another sought to bind her. And then another. And then another. And then-.

“Stop it!” She begged, ducking under his arm.

Marley looked as if he was about to chase after her. But he stopped. His head tilted as he seemed to listen to something. Ellen couldn’t hear anything but the whine of electricity.

“What is it?” She asked, unable to hide the fear in her voice.

“I can hear it.” He said.

“Hear what?”

“Everything.” He whispered. “Everything. Every bit of misery on television. Every piece of horror broadcasted on the air. Watching. Always watching. All we ever do is watch, Elle. We see, but we are blind. We hear, but we are deaf. All we do is consume.”

Marley shuddered. His appearance seemed jagged around the edges, like a fading image on a television screen.

“I don’t hear anything.” Scrooge said.

Marley looked at her. He glared behind his tears.

“Then listen.”

The air was suddenly alive with grief.

Ellen Scrooge fell to her knees, hands clasped over her ears, as the sound of countless souls filled the room. She could not see them, but their voices rang out in misery. She could not make out a single word, but somehow she knew exactly what was being said. It was the voices of the damned. It was the voices of those who, like Marley could have done something, but never did.

Marley’s hand buried in her shirt and he pulled her up. The light of the television set flickered behind him like the light of God.

“T H E N L I S T E N!” He wailed. Marley was angry. Marley was furious. Marley was afraid.

The television set seemed to let out a terrible shriek of pain. Every light in her apartment turned on at once, blinding her with their glow. The wails of the dead increased into one horrible din.

And then every light went out. Ellen fell on her face. The room was as silent as the tomb.

Marley was gone.

#jacob marley #ebenezer scrooge #a christmas carol #christmas carol #the christmas carol retelling thing

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dellyduck · 3 years

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A Pirate’s Life For Me

@rip-in-pieces-my-last-braincell It took me a day and a bit but I DID IT! 2.145 words, I hope you like it!

Just so you know, it has been ages since I’ve watched the movies, and this is not an official version, I just wanted to use as many characters as possible. The only characters that are mean to be in place are Kit, Della and Wildcat.

At some point of their long travel, even Della’s endless energy had come to an end. Donald felt relief for that at first, enjoying the rare peace and quiet in his life. However, as time passed by, the minutes being dragged at the same pace their ship calmly, quietly sailed through the fog, Donald almost wished his sister would still be running and climbing and screaming around.

The small twins were sitting side by side on a crate, eyes on the fog and ocean ahead without really paying attention to it. Donald didn’t know why or exactly when, but Della suddenly broke the silence by humming a not so unfamiliar melody. His fingers moved almost like an involuntary reflex and before the boy noticed, he was carefully playing the melody on his guitar. That was the moment Della chose to turn her humming into words.

“Drink up, me harties, yo-ho. Yo-ho, yo-ho... A pirate’s life for me. We extort, we pilfer, we filch, we sack, drink up-”

Della’s voice and Donald’s fingers where abruptly stopped when each twin had an adult hand grabbing their shoulders.

“Hush now, kids,” said the adult, in a tone of warning and looking around in agitation. “Real pirates travel in these waters, and the legends say that singing their songs is basically calling for them.”

“Wildcat!” shouted the voice with a tick Scottish accent that the kids knew very well. Their Uncle Scrooge didn’t look pleased as he approached them with his cane. “Ah would appreciate it if ye could not fill ma nephew and niece’s heads with untrue legends of the sea.”

“But they are true, Mr. McDee,” Wildcat insisted. “It’s bad luck to sing about pirates, everyone knows that.”

Donald gulped at these words, dropping his guitar at once; as if he needed more bad luck. Della, by other hand, didn’t look frightened in the slightest as the talk continued, captain Baloo breaking in to add his two cents.

“Wildcat’s not lying, Mr. McDuck, it’s common knowledge between us mans of the sea. And specially with us in the middle of this weird fog, I dunno ya but I’m not here to take risks.”

“Bah, fine,” Scrooge dismissed the topic with a hand. “If ye two are so bothered, they will stop singing.”

For Donald, his uncle didn’t need to say twice, looking forward for when the adults decided to change topics.

But Della didn’t seem ready to let go of this talk yet, “I think it’d be exciting to meet a real pirate,” she declared with her usual, innocent cheer.

Scrooge chuckled humorless, “Think again, lass.” He narrowed his eyes at the fog, as if daring the pirates who could be hiding behind it.

“Vile and dissolute creatures, all of them. Stealing without a care from those who earned their belongs fair and square.” Scrooge felt very much like spitting on the floor, but that was a habit from his old life and not a proper reaction from a governor. “If ye ask me, any person who dares to answer by the name pirate deserves the same fate: A short drop and a sudden stop.”

While Donald’s confused eyes didn’t move from their uncle’s face, Della turned her head to Baloo in search for answers. The captain hesitated for a moment, but in the end, he dropped a hand from the rudder, using it to grab the kerchief around his neck. By the way he stretched the tissue, dropping his head and letting his tongue roll off his mouth, Della quickly caught the message.

With a now frightened gasp, the girl snapped her head back forward, her wide eyes staring at the ship’s floor.

It was her reaction that made Scrooge notice his wee niblings’ faces to his last commentary. He then dropped his vexed expression for a concerned one. Oh marvelous, Hortense was going to kill him.

“Erh, but enough of pirate talks, aye? Ye kids enjoy the rest of the trip, with no singing,” he added before walking away to another part of the ship.

The twins just exchanged a look between each other, as if asking “what now?”. After a moment with no answer, Donald simply decided to jump off the crate and walk towards Baloo. Donald loved ships, boats, and the sea itself, and he was always eager to learn more about them, so it wasn’t hard for Della to imagine her brother’s plans.

Because of that, she stayed behind, looking around for something that would be of her interest. She found it when her eyes once again fell over the nets that leaded to the crow’s nest. Della had climbed it not even two hours ago, but the current boredom and the memory of the way she felt being up there were enough to make up her mind.

Della was lucky. Her parents were less strict than her friends’ about how a young lady should behave (although dresses and good manners were still a must) and her uncle didn’t give a feather if his ten-year-old niece acted boyish during their expeditions. That was how the girl got so good on activities like climbing.

Firmly grabbing the ropes, Della climbed up every step with patience, but no hesitation until she hit the middle of the net. There, she stopped. Dropping her right hand from the net, Della turned around on a complete 180°. She was facing the ocean now.

The fog turned the view way less appealing than it was a couple hours ago, but the duckling didn’t really mind. Just being up there, with wind in her hair, felling so free that it was almost like she could fly, was everything the young girl could wish for.

Della closed her eyes to breathe in deeply. But when she opened them again, her smile was quickly dropped when something through the fog caught her attention.

There was something on the water, floating.

Della needed to narrow her eyes to recognize a large wooden board. And laid on it, there was…

“A boy!” she exclaimed, starting to climb down the fastest she could, while still shouting. “Uncle Scrooge!! Baloo, Wildcat, look!”

The three men rushed to her, Scrooge grabbing her shoulders and checking his niece up and down after any wound in the instant Della was back on the ground.

“Lass, what’s the meaning-”

“A boy!” Della didn’t wait her uncle to finish, this time pointing a finger to where the floating board was. “Look, there’s a boy on the water!”

In the meantime that it took Della to climb down, the board had floated to even closer to the ship. Which allowed the three men to easily catch sight of the young, unconscious, brown-furred bear on it. Baloo’s eyes went wide, and he shouted,

“MAN OVERBOARD!”

Five more men from the crew came running to help, and with all of them working fast and together, it was a matter of seconds before the boy was out of the water and in Baloo’s arms. Della could just watch all the commotion from some steps behind, trying to get a better look, but the men were too tall and crowded to allow her any sight. She was able, however, to hear when Baloo declared,

“He’s still breathing.”

“For all the seven seas!” Della almost yelped at that sudden scream. When had Donald stopped by her side??

Nonetheless, her brother was looking even more frightened. Turning around and following his gaze, the girl could easily see why: hundreds of different types of merch floating on the water, them all coming from a ship, not so different from the one they were, crashing and burning in the middle of the ocean.

Scrooge, Baloo and Wildcat rushed to approach them and see it too, every man around trying to understand what could’ve happened there. Baloo wanted to believe in the easiest option, that merchant ships carry a lot of weaponry and somehow, accidentally, the powder was lit. But a tiny, distant voice in his mind wouldn’t let another, more scary option rest.

“P-p-pirates?” Donald gulped.

“Ah donnae know, lad, but we better be prepared for everything. Captain!” Scrooge started to command, and quickly everyone on the boat had a new role to play. Except for the little ones. “Donald, I want you to stay with me. Della-”

Scrooge cut himself off when he saw his niece wasn’t standing by her brother’s side anymore. Luckily, he just needed a quick look around to find the white duckling in a gray dress. It shouldn’t have surprised him that she was standing near their new crewmember. Scrooge walked to them, arriving just as a sailor took the boy from the ground, to take him away from the ship’s side edge.

“Della,” he called again, this time getting her attention. “I want you to accompany the boy. He will be in your charge. Take care of him.”

“Yes, Uncle Scrooge,” Della nodded, before following the sailor.

The brown cub was put to rest over the same crate the Duck twins had been sitting just some minutes ago. As she approached, Della knew she had a better chance to observe the boy now. He looked her age, maybe older for one or two years, if that much. His worn, patched up green sweater was completely soaked, and so was his fur, causing some of hair to fall over his eyes.

Gingerly as her housekeeper had taught her, Della touched his locks, gently moving them away. But no matter how gently, that disturbance alone was enough to wake the boy up with a chocked scream, grabbing her wrist with a shaking, yet strong hand.

Della sighed, trying to calm down her heart from the scare, before meeting his eyes. Petrified browns against calming light blues.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe now,” she guaranteed. “My name’s Della. Della Duck.”

“Kit,” he sounded breathless, scared, and tired. “Kit Cloudkicker.”

At that new piece of information, Della smiled.

“I’ll be watching over you, Kit.”

It’s like that was all the boy needed to hear, his grasp on her wrist loosening as his body fell unconscious once again.

Della kept her promise and stayed by his side, glad that now Kit looked more asleep than dead. It was while watching him that she noticed something loose around his neck. Touching it, Della easily recognized a red kerchief. Chances were high that it was just a piece of tissue, a cheap, meaningless adornment… But what if it was something his parents gave him? A memory of his family who, if traveling on that now burning ship, were probably no long in this world?

Biting her cheek, Della carefully took the kerchief within her hands, planning to keep it safe, maybe even wash it, before giving it back to Kit when he woke up-

Any thought was frozen, her heart leaping in surprise when she saw the drawing printed on Kit’s kerchief. She had never seen it before herself, but by the stories, Della knew exactly what the drawing of the white skull meant.

“You’re a… pirate?”

“Vile and dissolute creatures, all of them,” Uncle Scrooge’s words echoed in her head, alongside everything Della had heard about the bandits of the sea. But as she looked up to the boy again, she couldn’t see it. Kit didn’t look vile; he didn’t sound vile. He was just a kid, like her and Donald.

“Did he say anything?”

Della jumped, quickly crumpling the tissue in her hand, and hiding it behind her back as she turned around to face Baloo. He was accompanied by some other men of the crew, and not so distantly, the girl could see her uncle as well. Before she could even notice there was a choice to be made, Della was already executing her decision.

“His name’s Kit Cloudkicker. That’s all I found out.”

Baloo simply nodded, not looking suspicious of anything. After the last events, it was normal that such a young girl would be a little jumpy.

“We’re gonna take him bellow, alright missy? Our doctor can treat him better there.” The captain explained.

It was Della’s turn to nod, stepping behind so Baloo could take Kit in his arms again. The girl watched as they left, knowing she should be following them, but first and foremost, she needed a better place than her closed fist to hide that kerchief.

Confirming there was no one around her, Della opened her hand and the tissue again. Her eyes meticulously scanning the red fabric as her fingers caressed the skull figure.

At this point, this day was clearly one to be remembered by Della. But when she raised her head to catch sight of another ship on the distance, the same skull figure flapping on a black flag at the mast… Those few seconds were marked in her memory like a burn.

#ducktales #talespin #delkit #della duck #kit cloudkicker #baloo #scrooge mcduck #donald duck #fanfic #ducktales au

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black-kaitou · 3 years

Text

Been working on a fic for some time now but have hit some snags. So instead of posting the story I am putting up a short based before the main story takes place. Basically takes elements from The Legend of the Three Caballeros, The Three Caballeros, both Ducktales, and the comics. Let me know what y'all think and I might post more. I have five chapters written for the main fic with the Triplets.

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Donald pauses mending the thatched roof. Raising slightly to look eastward his gaze hazy As his head tilts as if listening to something far away.

"Donald? Donald? Donald!" Panchito yells, jolting the duck out of his trance.

"Huh?" Donald blinks looking at his friend who is staring at him startled.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Donald spins around, carefully sliding down off the roof.

"Donald?" José asks, setting the thatching aside.

Donald walks a few feet away from the cabana staring eastward once again.

"I have to go." The duck says as Panchito drops to the ground.

"Go? Where?" José asks as he and Panchito join their friends' side.

In almost a trance like state Donald answers, a tension in his body as if restraining himself.

"Home." Moving forward he approaches the water, his form morphing until only a dragon remains on the beach mighty claws clawing at the sand. Fin like wings flared as the thin head raised up to the sky.

Looking up José and Panchito see two more dragons circle above, their feathers fluffing as their skin prickles a low rumble like thunder rattling through their bones.

Donald raises on his hind legs wings out balancing him. Della dives towards him, a rumble coming from her as she flies pass. Higher Scrooge roars, redirecting his path heading eastward. Della follows glancing back at her brother. As they fly back over the city Donald falls back to his feet, wings sagging as he lowers his head.

Running across the sand José and Panchito place their hands on their friends' faces.

Touching his throat Panchito draws his fingers upwards, in a continuing gesture he returns the hand to Donald's cheek.

"Donald?" Panchito asks.

Donald tips his head looking at his friend, "Do you want to follow?" Panchito asks.

José watches as his friend growls at his shifted friend, his fingers running along part of the spinny frill.

The lithe body shivers at the question, a cry of longing coming from the dragon, "yes." Donald answers.

"Then we will help." Panchito promises and looks over to José.

"We need to follow Mr. Scrooge and Della."

"I'll make the gateway. You just need to pick the location my friend." José steps away to stand in front of the water lapping at his feet. As he takes a deep breath Panchito swings a leg over Donald's back one wing raising to allow him access.

Bringing his hands to his chest José thrusts them forward, darkness forming in front of him a few yards away, its gaping mouth large enough for Donald to easily slip through.

A rumble is José's only warning before he is tumbled through the air, twisting his umbrella materializes using the hook he grabs Panchito by the back of the jacket and pulls himself onto Donald's back just as darkness blacks out their vision.

A splash and the popping of the ears José and Panchito soon realize they are underwater. Underneath them, Donald serpentines body coiling and uncoiling as he swims, the darkness fades just as they break the surface of the chicken and parrot gasp lungfuls of misty air, droplets of water telling them they are no longer in the ocean.

Looking around Panchito realizes they are no longer in the Americas.

Leaning forward he taps Donald's neck, "where are we?"

Donald glances back at them, "Loch Rannoch."

Panchito blinks and turns his head to José, "We're in Scotland. Loch Rannoch."

"Why are we in Scotland? Where are we heading?" José asks as Donald turns to start going up a river.

"Don't know. I'll ask." Panchito answers just as Donald plunges his head under the water leaving only them and part of his wings above water.

Tapping his friend's neck Donald half resurfaces part of his head just above the water line.

"Where are we going?" Panchito asks.

A rumble quakes through his body, making both birds shiver.

"What did he say, my friend?"

Panchito looks back, "we are heading for Dismal Downs, the ancestral territory of Clan McDuck."

"Oh." José says surprised.

Donald continues swimming before pausing at the river bank, a hum coming from him. Nodding Panchito stands up looking around the area.

"It starts to get really foggy about a thousand yards from here. But there are no people."

A rumble of acknowledgement is his only warning as Donald serges out of the water. Panchito falling into José. Running across the track Donald quickly heads for the fog bank. Twisting José glances back at the deep tracks his friend is leaving with a worried frown.

"My friend you are leaving quite a mark of passage." José points out turning back around to wrap an arm around Panchito's thin waist.

Donald rumbles just as he dives into the fog, their vision whitening out. Rubbing their eyes of the moisture they feel the cold damp weather sinking into their very bones chilling them. Shivering José squintes closer to Panchito, the cool skin of Donald under them giving little heat.

"Just a little further." Donald barks, his voice like an echo.

"What?" José looks over Panchito's shoulder.

"He said not much further."

"I know I understood him."

"What?" Panchito yells in surprise, Donald laughs.

"It is the fog. A deep magic dwells here, shielding this place from the outside world. Here you can understand us and live time as we do."

"That's amazing my friend." José relaxes into Panchito's back.

"I guess. But be warned you are meeting my grandparents."

"Are they both dragons?" Panchito asks.

Donald nods slowing in his pace, "they are the same type as my Uncle."

"So scaley." Panchito says.

"Yes. They also have membrane wings and can breath fire."

"So warmth." José says longingly.

"Just a little further Joe. Grandma will make sure you two are comfortable."

José sighs burying his beak into Panchito's jacket.

"Who else will be here?"

"Mmh." Donald thinks as he navigates the marsh. "Aunt Matilda, possibly her husband. Uncle Catfish will be here." Donald jumps a ditch making both birds jostle.

"We won't be trouble for being here will we?" José asks as he reoriants himself.

"No. Matilda's husband is allowed as was my father. You two are fine, you're with me." Donald reassures.

"That's a relief. So why the strangeness before coming here?" Panchito asks.

"Yeah." José adds, "you seemed… out of body."

Donald hesitates stopping at the top of a knoll.

"I guess you can say it's instinct. Every Mcduck can feel it. Every ten years we have the urge to return home. This place… it's in our blood." Donald turns his head to look at them. "We can't help it, we have to come."

"So no matter what you have to do it?" Panchito asks carefully.

Donald sighs and keeps walking, "usually yes. The only time we can ignore it is if we have a reason why we can't travel."

"Like being injured?" José asks.

"That. Or caring for young. Aunt Matilda and my mother skipped some reunions when we or our cousins were small."

"Guess it would be hard to drag young ones halfway across the world." Panchito smiles.

"Even more so if you have a chick that can't fly." Donald gestures with a wing to indicate.

"But you are here." José points out.

"Thanks to you guys." Donald hums happily a bit more pep in his step.

#donald duck #josé carioca #panchito #the legend of the three caballeros #ducktales #fic writing #dragons

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