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1) up, up and away
It’s not an auspicious start that the first crime Drake encounters on his first day in St Canard is one he is unable to foil.
“250 bucks!” shouts down the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulders, “And no idea when that moving van will get here. If those miscreant moving van menaces don’t get my stuff here pronto they’ll face the full weight of my wrath.”
A couple leaving the apartment building give Drake a funny look as he struggles through the entrance. Granted he looks less than fearsome in his pink shirt and sweater vest; the rest of his clothes are on the moving van. The only thing he seems to be fighting is a heavy crate holding all his Darkwing memorabilia (too precious to trust to the troublesome truck). Drake was glad he’d given into the frivolous purchase of a sidecar for the bike. A lone superhero would get as much use out of it as a lonely actor, but it had kept everything safe on the drive down from Duckburg.
Despite his certainty that he sidecar wouldn’t get much use now her was finally here, there had been a slight pang. While crossing the gleaming St Canard Bridge the urge to turn his head to share a wide smile just as stunned at soaring suspended steel as him. The City had changed enough in the intervening years that every building or park or shop that Drake did recognise had made his smile widen. It was a sad sort of homecoming, but Drake told himself he didn’t mind. It’s not like he had anyone else to join him.
“Gee DW, I hope they don’t break any of it.” Launchpad’s voice came through tinny and distant through the speakers. “Not all transporters are as safe as me.”
Drake flinches slightly as the speakers pick up a small explosion and a child’s voice raised in nervous assurance.
“Never fear LP.” Drake promises, the door successfully negotiated. “Hopefully they’ll break nothing but my pride and bank balance.”
“I wish I could have been there to help you move in.” Launchpad says wistfully. It’s a sentiment Drake shares. Moving back to St Canard was the start of a life changing adventure years in the making, and he had to admit it would have been nice to share that with someone who understood that.
But Drake hadn’t used five note books and worn out the track on his VCR researching the characteristics of Darkwing Duck for nothing. If he was truly to be the Terror that Flaps in the Night, the Single Hair on your Gazpacho Soup, Drake had to get used to working alone.
“There are things a man must do alone.” Drake insists, shuffling across the lobby to the elevator. “A Ducks home is his castle after all. Got to check the defences, raise the portcullis…”
“Clean the moat.” Launchpad adds.
Drake pauses in the open doors of the elevator, “Clean the moat?”
“Sure.” Launchpad says cheerfully. Drake hides his smile as he gently wrests his box down on the ground. “Mr McD always makes me clean the moat. One time…”
Drake is distracted by the excited cadence of Launchpads story by the other occupant of the elevator cab. A small girl in a pair of battered red sneakers is jumping up and down trying to reach the buttons. Her shock of ginger hair barely reaches the bottom row, let alone the line she is desperately trying to reach. Un-functional lifts are clearly going to be another in a list of problems Drake will have to deal with living here. But it had been the cheapest rent in the middle of the city thanks to the Waddlemeyer satellite array on the roof.
With a quick work of apology to the still talking Launchpad, Drake silences his phone and smiles over at the girl. She smiles back, batting her eyelashes innocently.
“Here you go kid.” buoyed at being able to do a good deed, Drake lifts the child up closer to the controls.
“Gee Thanks Mister.” She proceeds to press the button for the top floor. Then every single button down to the first floor. With 35 buttons alight, she jumps from Drakes slack fingers and grabs her skateboard.
“Why you!” Drake splutters. “Come back here you.”
She already gone, slipping out of the gap between the closing doors with a practised ease. Her unrepentant cackle fading as the cad jerks to life.
“You okay DW?” Launchpad asks as Drake comes back on-line spluttering about towheaded tiresome tweens.
“I will be.” Drake vows, jerking as the lift lurches to a bone juddering stop on the first floor. Why did he think high up views of the city was a good idea? “Looks like Darkwing Duck just found his first nemesis.”
2) when life gives you lemons
Being woken up by a jackhammer outside his window complemented the one thundering in Drake’s head. With a groan Drake awoke flinging an arm over his aching head and ringing ears. He can hear the faint chatter of the plumbers on the street bellow his open window. Drake must have forgotten to close it after his night pounding the pavement. He’d been filled with delight after a successful night of crime fighting rewarded by a cool night breeze and Launchpad’s voice the other side of the phone. They didn’t always get to debrief like that, Scrooge’s jet setting and LP confusion about time zones made it impossible, but an evening spent helping cats across the street and rescuing old ladies from trees was an adventure when recounting to Launchpad holding on with baited breath.
The memory takes the sting out of his pounding head even if the midday sun encourages it. The harsh light makes the bareness his apartment even more stark. In the last month he’s only unpacked a couple of the boxes. The majority of his clothes are still squashed in their crumpled moving boxes. The effort it would take to unpack doesn’t seem worth it when it’s only him in the apartment. After living in his trailer Drake had assumed his own place would feel bigger.
Perhaps it was coming home to St Canard that had uncovered his childish yearnings for the dear downtown dwellings he’d seen as a kid. Last nights patrol had found him driving down Avian way, admiring the neat little roofs and gardens. Drake sighed, there would be no suburbia for this single superhero not on his salary.
In a nostalgic mood, Drake spots the lemonade stand on the sidewalk. With a few quarters in his pocket and wistful mood on his mind, Drake makes his way downstairs. One of the workmen is in the line in front of him, gulping down lemonade like a man possessed. Drake is bemused until he spots the girl behind the jug.
Unrepentant the red headed girl smiles up at Drake with wide innocent eyes. She waves him over as the work man wanders back to his jackhammer.
“What trouble are you up to today?” he asks.
Her eyes widen and her lip wobbles. If the memory of stopping at every floor between the ground and his apartment wasn’t so fresh Drake might be swayed.
“Just selling some lemonade sir.” She promises, pointing to the glistening jug.
“You haven’t’ done anything to it have you?” Drake fixes her with a look that had purse snatchers cowering. She is unmoved.
“It’s the best lemonade you’ll ever have.” She promises. “can I offer you some complementary crisps?”
Eyes still narrowed in suspicion, Drake took a careful handful. She kept on smiling sweetly as Drake chewed.
The flavour of salt assaulted his taste buds leaving his mouth drier than the Oilrabia Desert. His grasping for a glass of lemonade is stymied as the crisp criminal points at the sign at her elbow.
“10 dollars!” he gasps.
“It’s the best Lemonade you’ll ever have.” She repeats unrepentant, not even looking up from the large pile of bills she’s counting.
He slams a crumpled bill on the table. The girl takes her time, checking the watermark and holding the note in the air with a critical eye as Drake gasped parched on the sidewalk.
“Thank you.” She slides a generous glass over to Drake, satisfied the bill was genuine.
“Do your parents know you’re out her causing trouble.” Drake asks when he can finally form words without his throat seizing up.
“My grandad said I’m spirited not a troublemaker.” She insists, crossing her arms over her purple jersey. “He said an entrepreneurial spirit is good in the young.”
Drake can’t argue with that. It’s secretly impressed with her bald-faced spirit even if it had cost him $10 dollars.
“You’ve just moved in right.” She fixes him with the shrewd expression of a pro card shark evaluation their next victim, “I know everyone in the building. What do you do?”
“I’m an actor?” Drake answers after too much of a pause. Well, you can’t just admit to night time vigilantism to anyone you meet.
“You don’t sound very sure of that.” She observes, crunching on a crisp from an unsullied bag under the table.
“Well I haven’t got many roles recently.” Drake admits taking another sip of his lemonade. It is despite it all, very good lemonade.
She perks up, “Anything I’ve ever seen?”
“Have you seen any Duckberg community theatre?” Drake says.
“No,” She shakes her head. “Didn’t I see you get eaten in Attack of the Martian Duck-Eating Slugs Volume 7.”
“No. I’ve just got one of those faces.”
“That’s a shame.” She slumps back down dejectedly.
“That I wasn’t eaten?” Drake asks.
“No, that you aren’t a proper actor.” She gives a world-weary sigh. “It’s so boring around here. There’s nothing to do.”
Drake sits himself down next to her on the crate. “You seem to be entertaining yourself.”
“That’s baby stuff.” She dismisses with a wave of her hand. “I want to do something exciting.”
“Well you never know.” He leans down conspiratorially. “They say there’s a new superhero in town.”
Her eyes widen. “Like Gizmoduck?”
“No,” Drake says affronted, “better than Gizmoduck.”
She nods happily and offers him the bag of chips. “Oh good. Gizmoduck sucks.”
The crunch a few chips in companionable silence, watching workmen. From the apartment building three kids laden with tables and pitchers of lemonade emerge. The leader, a young gopher with a Junior Woodchuck sash covered in badges shouts angrily at the sight of the girl.
“Hey that’s our spot!”
“Oh gotta go.” She shouts, jamming her money, crisps and salt shaker into a backpack. Her skateboard is already whizzing down the street by the time the Junior Woodchucks catch up to the stand “See you around mister.”
Drake tries not to laugh. At least she’s an equally opportunity hellion. And she’s right about one thing. It really is the best lemonade he’s ever tasted.
3) someone to watch over me
Drake fumbles with his phone, nervously tapping his foot as the speed dial connects.
“Launchpad! Did you see it.” He asks the second the call connects. The voice on the other line is so load it nearly bursts into inaudible static.
“I saw it. I showed everyone.” Hearing Launchpad just as giddy makes Drake smile even wider. He hugs the box of fabric softener tighter to his chest. After seeing the footage he hadn’t even paused with his washing, only thinking to call Launchpad.
“They all agree it’s the best thing they’ve ever seen.” Launchpad enthuses. Drake wishes he could see Launchpad. The phoneline is not enough to really capture it all. Is he in his plane, the garage, the mansion? Drake is greedy for every little detail.
“Really?” the thought that LP was showing him off to his friends lit something warm in his chest.
Launchpad pauses, “Well Mr McD said something about you infringing on an intellectual property of McDuck Productions, but I bet he was secretly really impressed.”
Drake was too happy to give that worry any further thought. “I look like a real superhero don’t I?”
“Well, Yeah you always do.” Launchpad says, as if any other answer was unthinkable. Drake leans back against the washing machine and feels the vibrations of the drum.
“What where you trying to look like?” Launchpad asks concerned, “There was a bit where the alligator wrapped you around a lamppost like a pretzel. Where you trying to look like a pretzel?”
“No Launchpad.” Drake soothes, inordinately fond, “I was not trying to look like a pretzel.”
“Well you looked like a heroic pretzel.” Launchpad insists. “I think…”
Drake is denied the next part of the complement as his friend’s voice trails off.
“Sorry that was Huey. I got to go.”
“Oh, Okay.” Solo superheroes, he reminds himself of the mantra, don’t need sidekicks. An important part of the show was that Darkwing Duck worked alone. Ignoring that central tenant seemed a terrible way to honour Jim’s memory.
But he still can’t help asking, “Can we talk later?”
“Always DW.” Launchpad promises without missing a beat.
Drake continues with his laundry, whistling to himself as he puts another load in the dryer. He takes advantage of the empty laundry room and pulls up the video again. Who ever filmed it must have had a good head for heights. The angle at which he can be seen wrestling that no good Louisiana Lawbreaker Jambalaya Jake and his disreputable reptile Gumbo, makes him look very imposing.
“Oh, you’ve already seen it.” says a voice over Drakes shoulder. He startles as the girl jumps up on the drier and pulls the phone towards her. “Pretty sweet right.”
Drake tries to school his face into something approximating annoyance at being sneaked up on, but the girl is so always so shameless he’s come to accept it’s a lost cause. He’s seen her around the building, trailing chaos in her wake. Drake’s never seen her with anyone else, just the ever-present squeak of sneakers and the shouts of her victims.
She’s watching footage with a critical eye, her foot bouncing with a metal drumbeat against the side of the drier.
“I know.” Drake can’t be angry when she’s so enraptured by Darkwing Duck. He was exactly the same at that age. “That Bayou bad guy stood no chance against the battling brawn of Darkwing Duck.”
“No, “She laughs, “the video. I did a good job right?”
Drake blinks, “That was you?”
How had he not spotted her? He’d put it down to an enterprising member of the press who knew a good story when they saw it. Rumours of St Canards Duck Knight had been growing over the past few months as well as the number of felons in their jail cells. Being caught unawares had been acceptable if it had been a member of the fourth estate, but by this impudent imp? However charming Drake found her it wouldn’t do for Darkwing Duck to be so easily spied on.
“Yeah, I bet Mrs Roscoe can’t say this project lack originality.”
Drake thought originality was the last thing he’d accuse this girl of. He pitied and admired her Grandfather for having the task of keeping such a dangerous duckling in line. When he told her this he’s treated to another eye roll.
“This from someone in a sweater vest.” She mocks.
“All my other clothes are in wash.” Drake insists, he would be wearing the pink shirt and vest, today of all days.
“How did you manage to sneak up on Darkwing Duck?” he asks casually.
She rolls her eyes, “It was really easy. He was too busy beating on Jambalaya Jake and thinking up bad puns.”
Drake was insulted, “They aren’t that bad.” He insists.
“He likes bad puns as much as you.” She grins up at him. Drake suppresses his own eye roll. She was young she’d appreciate the joy of a well-constructed pun when she was older. Drake isn’t going to look too closely at the fact that the only thing close to a new friend he’s made is a child whose name he still is yet to learn. But he can’t deny that the tedious job of loading his wet clothes into the dryer is improved by her presence.
“You want to see something neat?”
She doesn’t let Drake answer before leaning over the side of the dryer, subjecting the old machine to a volley of kicks. Drake is about to stop her when the ancient behemoth lurches into life without Drake putting in the money.
“Pretty neat.” He admits as she beams up at him.
“You should come with me tonight.”
Drake looks away from his washing back at where the girl is drumming her feet against the metal, almost nervously. “We could watch Darkwing Duck in action.” She offers hopefully.
Drake feels bad. She’s the only person in St Canard that seems as excited as him about Darkwing Duck. She can’t be such a bad brat if she likes Darkwing Duck.
“I’m… busy. Sorry kid.” He lies.
Her face falls but she covers it with a pout and crossed arms, “This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened. What could you possibly be busy with?”
“I’m uh…washing my feathers.”
She gives the world-weary sigh of a child who is old enough to be done with adult foolishness. “Fine. I’ll go alone then.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Drake says. His vehemence confuses her, and Drake has to backtrack, “you could get hurt.”
She shakes her head, clearly reaching her limit of dealing with adult stupidity. She jumps off the drier, “I won’t be alone.” She explains patiently, “Darkwing Duck will protect me.”
Drake is more worried that Darkwing Duck needs more protecting from her.
4) scene partner
“St Canard Central, family first fank… No that’s not right. Family first Banking...”
Drake sighs nearly frustrated enough to throw the script into the street. His plan to learn his lines in the fresh air was not the game changer he’d envisioned. He’s just as frustrated as he had been stuck in his apartment.
This was the first audition he’d had since getting to St Canard, he really needed to make this work. It was so hard to invest in his secret identity when being a superhero was taking all his time and energy. If the parts he was reading for where interesting maybe, but Drake had to admit the only part he’d ever been excited to read for was Darkwing Duck.
Lost in thought, Drake reacts automatically as something wizzes past his face. He snatches the projectile from the air to an impressed whistle from the mouth of the alley.
“Wow, Nice catch.” The girl waves a hockey stick at him.
Drake chucks the hockey puck back to her, “Wouldn’t have been nice if you knocked my eye out.”
She shrugs, “You would have a cool eyepatch then, that would be neat.”
That would be cool, it wouldn’t fit with the rest of the costume though. It was iconic for a reason.
The girl sighs and wanders listlessly over the upturned crate Drake is sitting on. He budges over to make room for her. “I’m so bored, what you doing?”
Drake shows her his script, “Running some lines, I’ve got an audition tomorrow.”
She perks up. “Anything cool?”
“St Canard Central Bank?” he says, hoping she won’t find that as dull as he does.
“Do you get to do anything cool.” She moans.
“Not while you’re around.” Drake admits, somewhat truthfully. The case of the missing Diamond Duck of St Canard was getting very interesting. Lots of skulking around roof tops and hiding in the shadows of City Hall. They always made the stake out portions of the show much more exciting than they really are. Drake wouldn’t have minded if he could share the duties with someone else. The mind tends to wonder when you’re on your own.
The kid is flipping through is script with a decidedly unimpressed look on her face, “This is terrible, who wrote this?”
“Tuskerninni” the blank look on her face is no surprise. He’s not as offended as he would have been at someone not knowing something related to the show, as he once would have been. Launchpad had got it immediately. He’d also been able to list all the episodes Tuskerninni had directed in proper production, airing and his own special ranking order.
Even Drake’s reserve at having LP come and visit him wouldn’t have kept him away from meeting (or at least fainting on) the great Tuskerninni.
Unfortunately, the last message Drake had got said he was in Under America. Which could mean any number of things, South America, The South Pole even under the continent itself in some mysterious subterranean caverns. Drake didn’t mind that Launchpad seemed to live an exciting life if not for the doubt that he could be providing the same excitement here in St Canard.
“Fine I’ll help you, give it here.” The girl snaps the paper open with a put-upon sigh, as if she’s helping Drake solely from the goodness in her heart instead of looking for enteryainment on a Tuesday afternoon.
“Well don’t do me any favours.” Drake quips. Shouldn’t she be in school? Isn’t there still school on Tuesdays?
“Uh hem hem.” She clears her throat loudly over Drakes protestations. She flings her arms out and orates, “Oh dear father please help me there is a monster under my bed.”
He laughs. She won’t get a role in the school play for lack of passion that’s for sure.
“No no,” she hits her recalcitrant co-star on the arm. “now you say…”
“It’s alright dear daughter I’m here to protect you.” Drake repeats, trying to inject the words with the sincerity he’d been struggling with all morning. She waves imperiously for him to finish the line.
He mimes looking under a bed, his pantomiming making her giggle. “Why that’s no monster! that’s the spectre of your future financial stability.” Drake says, still holding down a laugh. The writing was never this bad on Darkwing Duck, Tuskerninni must have lost his touch or moved on to a better gig.
The kid lifts her arms and waves her arms, flapping her too large jersey around like a sheet,
“Whoooo whoooo.”
“The script does not call for ghost noises.” Drake orders, feeling as the pro he owed a little bit of professionality to the proceedings.
“How else will they know it’s a ghost then.” She complains.
“It’s your line next.” Drake tells her.
“Oh daddy.” She announces with somehow even more dramatics, “how can you protect me from such a grim future. My happiness is in your hands.”
Drake does his best Tom Lockjaw impression and reads, “Why with the lil fussbudget account only from St Canard Central.”
She clasps her hands together against her cheek and bats her eyelashes, “Oh papa you’re so smart!”
Jumping down from the crate she sticks her tongue out, “Yuck, No way, It’s too much man. Being eaten by the Duck-Eating Martian Slugs would be better than this.
“Would pay better too.” Drake admits.
“Why would you want to audition for this?” she asks.
“Need the money to support the very exciting I lead when you’re not around.” That’s not exactly the truth. The pay-out from McDuck Productions was as generous as anything connected to Scrooge McDuck could be. And the local S.H.U.S.H office had been happy to work with him, despite the dirty looks Agent Gryzlikoff would shoot him if he took more than one jelly doughnut in the break room. To be honest Drake misses the comradery of acting, the give and take of the scene. Although acting was very much his life-long passion. He missed having a scene partner that was on the same page. The villains Darkwing Duck faced rarely fit the bill.
The girl seems less than impressed at his explanation, “What wearing sweater vests and washing your feathers.”
“I could live a very exciting life while your back is turned.” Drake insists.
She scoffs, “I doubt it I know everything that happens in the building.” She grabs her hockey stick and bounces the puck off the wall a few times. Her aims pretty good.
“What do you when I’m not around?” Drake asks, “You haven’t been stalking Darkwing Duck, have you?”
“No!” she promises, butter wouldn’t melt. At his glare she changes her mind, “I mean I’ve tried to find him but he’s too busy.”
Something in her expression worries Drake, “Why are you so interested in him?”
She shrugs, hitting puck with enough force to bounce, “He’s so cool. We’ve never had a superhero in St Canard before. I just want to talk to him is all.”
“What would you say to him?” Drake wonders.
To Drakes shock he realises she’s embarrassed, “It’s stupid.”
Drake nudges her arm, “Go on tell me.”
“No, It’s nothing.” She insists. “I bet he has lots of kids hanging around him. I bet he’d think I was a real loser.”
“I don’t think you’re a loser.” Drake promises.
She scoffs, clearly his word meant nothing without the cape and mask, “Yeah but you wear sweater vests and play with dolls.”
“They are limited edition action figures.” Drake corrects.
When she laughs at him there is no meanness to it, if Drake didn’t know better he’d think it was fond, “You’re weird.”
5) to whom it may concern
Drake is carrying his weekly groceries up the landing when he spots two rams and a donkey inspecting the apartment along the corridor. His stealthy approach is foiled as the larger of the rams, dressed in a dark pinstripe suit, spots him.
“Hey Mister,” the he drawls. “You seen a little girl around. About this high, red hair?”
You didn’t need to be a seasoned crime fighter to know these goons where up to no good. “Who wants to know?” he asks slowly backing towards his door, and his costume if needed.
“CPS.” The goat whipps out a badge. He doesn’t give Drake anytime to inspect it further before he stows it back into his jacket with a nasty smile.
My apologies.” Drake grits out. If he was in his civilian clothes this would be going very differently. He was pretty sure Child Protective services wouldn’t employ this nightmare making ne’er-do-wells to keep and eye on children. “I’ve not seen anyone like that.”
It’s not a lie. The pre-pubescent panic purveyor had been noticeably absent from the building these past weeks. After a week of checking around alleys and throughout the nooks and crannies of the building, Drake had nearly convinced himself it wasn’t his place to worry about her, nearly.
“Okay, Sir. You have a nice day.” The ram’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
Drake slams his door in his face with no little satisfaction. He’s so caught up wondering what the goons might be up too that it takes him a while to realise he’s not alone in the apartment. The girl is sitting on his sofa, looking very small in his still bare room. She looks up at him, eyes wide. Through the thin wood of the door Drake can hear the leader shout at his lackies to get a move on.
“How did you get in here?” Drake whispers.
“I’ve got a key.” She says, holding out a huge ring of brass keys that fail to answer his question.
“Why do you have a key to my apartment?”
She rolls her eyes, her bravado returning now the imminent danger has passed, “Relax I have a key to everyone’s apartment.”
Pausing, she cranes her neck as if trying to see through the front door. She drops her voice conspiratorially, “Are they still out there?”
“Why are CPS after you?” Drake asks, dumping his shopping bags on the counter.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, “Whatever they might have heard about that pig wasn’t my fault.”
Drake hides his smile behind the open cupboard. Her misadventures are much more charming when he’s not the butt of them. “I bet. Well you can stay in here until they leave.”
“Aww thanks.” She leaps up and throws her arms around him. Frozen in surprise it takes Drake a few seconds to relax and hug her back. Perhaps he’s missed human contact that didn’t end with his fist in some foes face, but she fits against his hip just right. He tentatively squeezes her tighter as she relaxes further with a slight crinkle. Puzzled, Drake pulls a sheet of paper from her pocket. A very familiar sheet of paper.
“Is that my letter?”
He must have left it on the table when he went out to clear his head. Thinking his private thoughts would be safe locked inside his apartment.
She pulls away looking uncharacteristically sorry, “I thought it was just another sad handwritten script.”
Drake snatches the paper back and smooths it nervously. “It’s private you shouldn’t have read it.”
“I’m sorry.” She promises, “I’m really sorry. I promise I didn’t read it.”
At his unimpressed look she wilts, “Not much of it.”
“Okay, all of it,” she admits, “but it’s very short. I didn’t know you had any other friends but me.”
Drake’s too tired to be mad. The fact he was even considering this sort of change while the Waddlemeyer case was hotting up was already a mistake. Whatever mischief the kid was planning was too much seasoning to add to his already stuffed plate.
“There is a lot about me you don’t know.” He sighs. Crossing to the sofa he sinks down, placing his letter gently on the table, “Go on, what did you think?”
“It was a nice letter and all,” She offers carefully, “but it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself rather than him. Do you not want him to move to St Canard?”
More than anything. He’d found himself driving down Avian Way last week, going so far as to note the houses that had For Sale signs. The odd pang of annoyance at the adventures Launchpad was going on had turned far too quickly into jealously that it wasn’t Darkwing’s cockpit he was flying in. What did that tight-fisted titan have to offer that Drake didn’t.
“I do.” He says. He can tell be her expression she’ll need more backstory than that. “You see I moved to St Canard to strike out on my own. There is a…model I’m following, the lone hero type. Wanting a sidekick isn’t part of that.”
She crosses her arms, “That sounds like a dumb model then.”
“It ran for a 65 episode season,” Drake argues. “it’s not that dumb.”
In practise it’s a different swag bag entirely. Drakes been doing this long enough tonotice the areas in which a second person would make crime fighting more effective; as a decoy, another set of eyes, backup in a fight. None of those reason are as convincing as the personal. It’s pleasure rather than business that led Drake to put pen to paper.
“Look mister,” the kid interrupts Drakes thoughts. “You seem nice in a sad dad kind of way.”
He laughs, “Forgive me if I don’t put that on my headshots.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” she insists, “lots of kids would love a parent like you.” At Drakes raised eyebrow she backpaddles quickly. “I mean there are some pretty sad kids out there. I wouldn’t know.”
She ignores Drake’s concerned expression and barrels on, “Why don’t you have kids?”
The question surprises him, “I don’t know.” He says giving the idea some thought for the first time. “One of those things I thought would be better with the right partner I suppose.”
“Or the right kid?” she adds softly.
Drake laughs, “Are you offering?”
“No way!” she pouts. “I’m a dynamic dangerous kind of kid. I need a parent to match.”
Drake can see that. She doesn’t talk too much about her Grandfather, but he must be a lucky man to have such a granddaughter. Drake can recognise that his own tactic of not learning too much about the kid, even her name, is a ploy to not get too attached.
“DW wouldn’t give up.” She adds slyly, delighted by Drake immediately perking up at his hero’s name.
“He doesn’t need a sidekick though.” Drake argues, not willing to be out-argued in his area of expertese.
“Well yeah, bet he’d like a partner though.” She grins.
Drake returns the smile, she’s got him there. “You think?”
“I do.”
He gets up and hands her a cold can of Pep from the fridge, giving her shoulder a brief squeeze as he passes. She slurps it up, happy to join him on the sofa.
“My friend usually gives those kind of pep talks.” Drake admits, looking at the contents of his letter with new eyes and invigoration.
“Then he needs to move to St Canard quick,” she says. “I can’t spend my whole life cheering you up.”
+1) little girl blue
Gosalyn had met some pretty mean CPS officers since she’s been sent to live at the orphanage. But even Mrs Cavanaugh wouldn’t send these goons after her, even after that time she floated a paddleboat through the flooded third floor dormitory. She’d managed to escape them at the apartment tower, she’d never been so thankful for Grandpa leaving her the deed. The master key had come very handy since he’d passed.
They been waiting for her at the Orphanage, grabbing at her as she tried to sneak in over the fence. With a battle cry Gosalyn swing her skateboard, clocking the leader of the trio in the face.
“Take that!” her attacker wobbles for a second before dropping like a sack of Thursday night laundry. His accomplices pause for a second, eyeing her skateboard with new found fear.
“You’d better step off creep.” She orders, hoping her voice isn’t as shaking as much as her legs are. Urged on by the orders of their leader, the other two advance, herding Gosalyn towards the road and the dark suspicious van parked at the side of the road.
“I’m warning you.” Gosalyn shouts, nearly tripping over her own sneakers as she reaches the lip of the pavement. “No one kidnaps Gosalyn Waddlemeyer.”
With a yelps she’s jerked into the air by a passing motorbike. Struggling she manages a few good punches to her new assailant before a flash of purple in the corner of her eye pulls her up short.
She blinks up into the face of Darkwing Duck. For all her nebulous plans to meet the caped canard, impress him and sign on as his capable crime stopping companion, Gosalyn hadn’t given much thought to anything as unimportant as how she was going to accomplish her goal. The daydream of rubbing it in the other kids faces at Adoption Day was pretty much the pinnacle of her planning.
It takes her a few moments to realise Darkwing is also staring at her, eyes locked on her rather than the road.
“All this time, you’ve been Gosalyn Waddlemeyer?” he asks. His voice is strangely familiar.
She narrows her eyes, “All my life.” She replies slowly.
“Granddaughter of the renowned Professor Waddlemeyer.”
“Uh huh.”
He’s not finished, “Sole inheritor of the Waddlemeyer fortune. You own the Waddlemeyer array and the apartment building under it.”
“Yup.” Gosalyn says.
Darkwing looks like he wants to ask something else. There’s something about that baffled expression close up that stirs something in her memory. The Duck Knight shakes his head and the echo is gone.
“You’re in danger.” He tells her, “Taurus Bulba is after you. I’m here to keep you safe.”
Under the shadow of his hate his smile is fond, “It’s alright dear Gosalyn, I’m here to protect you.”
Gosalyn’s mouth falls open. It can’t be, can it?
“Keen Gear!” She breathes as they speed into the night.