prowlpetrex

[prowlpetrex]

a gift

Scrooge had to admit, at least to himself that Parenting had not been in his plans. Having a large extended family, well, that had been all right for him, and he was proud to be the uncle to people who were the finest Ducks he’d ever met in his truly unbiased opinion.

But fatherhood?

Ah, there was the fly in the ointment.

He’d never seen himself as anyone’s father figure(whether those he cared for saw themselves as his children could be seen as a topic for debate, but they had never brought the matter to his attention if they did). He was happy to be the kindly uncle whom all the children thought was cool because he just wasn’t like any of the other adults they had met in their admittedly short lives.

He was an interminable ball of energy given form by a careless god who’d forgotten to install a reliable off switch, full of secrets he would take with him to the grave if he ever slowed down long enough to kick the bucket.

Age and family tragedy may have slowed him down just a bit, but he was prone to misremember all he had painfully learned the second it got in the way of adventuring, only realizing what he’d done long after the consequence had passed.

He was, after all, a man who did not like to have his pleasures obstructed and could be cross for ages if he didn’t get what he fancied. Some might call this childish, but he could ignore the evaluations of the preponderance because as long as those practices they dismissed as juvenile benefited his naysayers and himself he could disregard their verdicts as misinformed.

In the back of his mind, he could accept that the root of this line of reasoning might lie in some psychological wound he had contracted, likely from trauma incurred from a childhood he’d cut short seeking fortune for himself and his family.

Like many dilemmas of its character, he had yet to approach it in the relativistic safety of his therapist’s office.

He didn’t know if he would ever try to look beneath the act for whatever the issue it signified for him, but the feasibility was more possible now than it had ever been. Even visiting a therapist would have been unthinkable months ago. However, sudden bouts of fatherhood could do that to a person, he supposed.

A great deal had needed to be hammered away at before and after he waited for the egg to hatch.

Not least of all was the relationship between himself and the other parent concerned.

Shere Khan.

He had known the man to be a workaholic by reputation, one who irregularly kept unsavory association, and who had a prominently high turnover rate for employees who occupied high positions. He’d met him twice and had even done business with him through proxies, and he'd proven to be a prompt and competent business partner. However, he had not made an effort to get to know the elusive billionaire personally.

He usually only bothered with other businesspeople on a whole if they made a nuisance of themselves or tried to scam him in some way.

Khan, reliable as he had been, hadn’t been on his radar as someone who needed Scrooge’s own special sort of consideration.

But later on an incident with the man’s former employee had changed everything.

How the mayhem sprang into existence, he still didn't know, but as the official narrative went, Khan had given the man, a feline who's name he could not recall, leave of absence, declaring him unfit for the position and had ordered that he visit the psychologist at the industry’s Employee Resource Department.

While he strongly suspected what had prompted the decision he had not been informed of the reason officially.

The businessman had only parted the information unto the police force stationed in Cape Susette. The specifics had then been tagged as confidential. What he did know was that not long after that, the scientist had chosen not to visit the Resource Department and had been let go.

He had then sought to get hired by Scrooge’s own company. Unhappily for the man, the vultures who occupied his corporate office had got to the man before he’d been able to meet with him and had refused to add another “pet lunatic to his insane asylum” as they had insensitively stated.

The man had been visibly upset at the comment, and Scrooge had arranged to apologize for them outstretching his hand to shake the others warmly, preparing a plan in his thoughts to hire the man secretly just to spite them.

He should have but hadn’t quite expected the sting of the man’s claws to nick his skin.

The man had apologized then wiping at the blood that had soaked his feathers and painfully parting him with a few in his attempts to help.

He had explained that he sometimes had difficulty sheathing his claws when he was angry.

Scrooge had changed his mind then, thinking the potential applicant might be a tad too temperamental to work with his science division.

The man’s anger was valid but whether or not the passion had a credible source would not save him from being murdered by Gyro’s light bulb helper before the week was out if he could not hold his temper should he encounter Scrooge’s lead Scientist before the man had absorbed his morning coffee.

So he let the man withdraw and cordially overlooked the pain he’d administered by injecting his claws into his hand. He had given the feline the benefit of the doubt and had put it out of his mind, shrugging the act off  as an accident.

He had not noticed the man had kept the feathers or the blood he’d obtained from the cut. He would have had no way of knowing that he had already collected blood from Shere Khan when the man had donated blood for a company-held charity drive.

If it hadn’t been for an uncharacteristic act of altruism from Glomgold of all people he would not have later discovered the scientist had created a small being conceived using the DNA of himself and Khan.

He had devised to use the unborn babe to advertise his capabilities to those who might be interested in hiring him.

Ever the man of action, Scrooge hadn’t wasted time.

The youngster may have been given life from an experiment he had never signed off on, but if what was said was true then the resulting ankle-biter was family.

Moreover, when it came to the family, a true McDuck could do naught but look after their own, even in cases when the specifics of the circumstances rattled them if they dwelt too long on it.

He hadn’t known what he would do with the kiddie after he had rescued them but he had concluded he would fret about that after he had achieved the task.

The self-appointed rescue mission had taken him longer than he had foreseen. He’d hoped to sneak in by himself and avoid security altogether, but somehow the children had been alerted to his plans and had decided on their own that he required assistance and in the ensuing argument they had set off the alarms.

Everyone had emerged from the situation a little worn around the edges, but they had found whom they had come for.

They had reached home, tuckered out from fighting with the hired security personnel. Bentina Beakley had taken one look at his face as he proudly carried the egg in and had elected to drag out the old incubator lamp they had used on the triplets before they had been born.

The children had been ushered into bed by Donald. And then the adults had set up a room for the bairn together. Afterward, he’d gone to sleep sitting across the room from something that was made from a part him. It was a new experience, off-putting but wonderful, and the last thing he thought before consciousness was lost to him was that he wanted more of it.

The next morning he’d awoken to a list of places Beakley had prepared that he could safely put the child up for adoption and he had been startled to learn how possessive he already was for what was still an embryo. But it surprised none who knew him.

He was the protective sort and he'd had time to consider what things might be for the child if they were brought up outside the home. It was inevitable that they would draw attention, possibly negative, for their looks.

If placed in the wrong home, they wouldn’t even have a family to support them through their troubled times.

He had known then that he was going to keep them. That had also been when he’d realized it might be proper to inform Khan he had a child.

And... what a tosser of an event that had been. It had been one of the most awkward moments in his life, made even worse by the fact that one of the songs on unwed pregnancy Della had loved to sing and dance to as a lass had come on the radio, and had refused to leave his head during the entire encounter. He was fairly certain he had shaved a good ten years off of his life, but had unquestionably flushed in discomfort when those red eyes had turned disbelievingly on him.

Facts and scientific charts had caused the tiger to accept reality, but the other male had wanted little to do with the ordeal.

Scrooge had understood.

He hadn’t asked for fatherhood either, and unlike him, who was happiest when enveloped by those who loved him, their voices acting as a buffer to block out a century’s worth of mistakes of the past that waited, ready to pounce the moment he found himself alone, Khan had always been a loner. Any free time the man allowed himself was devoted towards caring for the garden he had grown in his office.

You couldn’t make someone feel a kinship with anyone and forcing the issue if Khan even could be forced into committing himself to an action he held no desire to be actively involved in with any degree of permanence would only result in resentment.

As someone who knew very well the sting of a parent’s resentment and was in no hurry to introduce a child to that level of negativity. It had hurt him badly enough as an adult, to expose that pain to a child, especially from a parent as undeniably intimidating as Shere Khan seemed nothing short of unspeakable by his reckoning.

That day he’d written off any involvement from the child’s other parent.

Outside of a few scheduled appearances during the trial of the scientist responsible for creating an illegal clone(it was against the law using material taken from sentient animals) created using DNA that had been illegally collected without the consent of either party involved, Shere Khan's presence remained as fleeting as ever.

The Scientist’s lawyer had strived to get him declared innocent by means of insanity, but it had been ultimately dismissed when the man was found to be fully sane after testing. He had known exactly what he was doing, and he had not cared if it was wrong. He was sentenced accordingly, and though they doubted it would stay a secret forever, both Scrooge and Khan had pushed for a gag order. The truth of the incident would only incite unwanted drama neither had wanted. They had gotten it but knew it would only be a matter of time before the story somehow leaked to the world proper.

He had not seen Khan for months after the trial ended. The tiger had even missed the hatching of the egg, which had been a quiet little event the family had attended with baited breath.

His child had been beautiful but undoubtedly unique from the onset.

The attention received from the other parents in the parenting classes he had been forced into taking by the unexpected but efficient team up of Donald and Beakley had been alarming.

He still didn’t know how they had somehow convinced him it was necessary to take parenting classes let alone continue to attend after he’d practically been mobbed that first lesson.

He was willing to schedule activities for them to do together, but the people and their questions could drive a man to distraction.

There were enough birds of striking plumage in the world that he felt no need to discuss the uncommon parentage that had resulted in such a unique appearance.

Enough observation was drawn by virtue of being an avian of unknown parentage and a member of his household.

He feared the truth could only do harm in this case and was set on keeping it a secret.

Fortunately, the only people in a position to inform anyone had nothing to gain from the revelation.

Even Glomgold had apparently decided that discretion was the better part of vengeance because he had practically mowed down the door in his attempt to break in a few weeks before the child’s naming day(which he had been tentatively invited to, much to Scrooge’s later regret) and had demanded to be made Godfather. He had, after all, played a part in the safe recovery of the newest member of clan McDuck. Scrooge had been forced to concede that the man did have a point and had allowed his nemesis to be the Godfather of his child.

He had also sent an invitation to Khan as an afterthought, but it had gone unanswered.

The ceremony was composed mostly out of the members from his household and a few of the other parents(and their children) he’d met in class who weren’t entirely objectionable. They’d then attended a reception Flintheart had graciously paid for out of pocket. Scrooge had been momentarily stunned by his act of kindness before the other shoe had dropped.

Glomgold had gleefully informed him that this fact had technically made them family and didn’t that just ruffle your tailfeathers McDuck? No, of course not Flinty.

(Yes it did)

Barring the fact that he now had paperwork and one very dedicated little girl’s flow chart to inform the world that Flintheart Glomgold was connected to him in a disturbingly significant way, everything had seemed to be going well.

Perhaps it was going too well, and that had been the trouble.

His family had never been as susceptible to bad luck as it was during moments when life seemed nearly perfect. It had been during one of the more labor-intensive activities when he noticed his child seemed to abhor physical activity.

No… that hadn’t quite been it.

While often active there were times when the movement became impossible without complaint and often tears. He would stop the moment the game no longer seemed entertaining, but it left him puzzled. It did not seem to have any particular pattern. An activity might seem the best thing ever one day and the worst of tortures the next. With the age being still too young to get any verbal confirmation over what the trouble was he had sought medical assistance.

The routine check-up had turned into a week-long sabbatical, and the end results had not been good.

The two subjects that had been used to create the new unique individual were not compatible on a biological level, and it had resulted in a myriad of physical problems that had become more evident as the child aged. He’d sat in his room assessing the paperwork that addressed everything his nipper would need to deal with on a regular basis and he'd needed a moment... to take stock of everything but had resolved to be the most supportive parent he could be.

He’d then set about ordering every recommended item on the list rendered by the professionals. From leg braces to various medications, he’d reserved it all. Everything that would provide for a childhood as suitable as could be presented.

He’d also needed to take an evening off to himself to process just how much money he had spent that day, but that was what family was for.

Donald had been happy to help, and he had taken off to South America to investigate the ancient ruins that bore striking resemblances to those that had also been found in India.

Evidence of the migration of Early people made for a captivating topic of interest, and he had wanted to see more of it for himself.

He’d apparently looked very much the tourist which had attracted the attention of a local scam artist.

The fox had tried to put the moves on him in a game of cards, but he was accustomed with the act, and when he had seen the man taking cards out of his sleeves he’d nearly rolled his eyes.

If he cheated a little himself after that little display… well, no one but him would know.

The game had ended with the man owing him money and Scrooge feeling spectacularly good about himself. Like many hustlers, he was a poor loser and hadn’t taken the failure well. He had stirred up a few of his jacks to take back what he’d squandered and Scrooge had led them on a lively joyride through the city that had resulted in the attention and eventual assistance of a clever lizard who had been an undercover police officer, one wrecked bridge (that had absolutely not been his fault) and a tidy little reward for the capture of several wanted criminals.

He had left the city in a better mood than he’d arrived.

Sadly, the joy of dollars well earned, most of which he had used to pay for the destroyed bridge, ended all too soon.

Tossing his hat on the rack, he had been cautious on his arrival home when he’d seen an unfamiliar vehicle in his driveway. He’d opened the greeting room and caught sight of an obviously furious Donald and the dignified figure of Shere Khan sitting at his dinner table looking for all the world as if he belonged there and Donald was the interloper who’s existence he was dispassionately tolerating.

He’d felt dread then.

Before this moment, Khan had shown no interest in them outside the long since concluded court case.

His appearance now was strange, the plausibility that it would be the source of anything positive was unfavorable. He’d been greeted by both men and he exchanged the round of pleasantries before he had been offered a bottle of chai tea masala he knew Khan must have brought himself. Scrooge knew no one else would have spent the money on such an expensive brand.

He’d politely declined, and Donald had yelled at their visitor, ordering him to stop stalling and get to the reason behind his presence.

Scrooge had asked his nephew to leave then, finding the energy counterproductive. All it did was set him further on edge. He’d realized his words had implied the wrong thing when Donald looked betrayed and Khan approving, but it had been too late to take things back as Donald had slammed the door after him.

He had flinched at the noise. It should not be so hard to let someone you loved know you valued them and their opinions, but it was so easy to say the wrong things to that boy.

It was practically a constant of their relationship, but that did not mean he didn’t hope for better.

He would make amends with his nephew later.

He had been left alone with Khan then, and he found himself missing his nephew even more.

Perhaps spurred on by his audience’s palpable distress the tiger had notified him he’d heard reports of the doctor’s medical assessment and the price tag attached. So he had seen fit to visit the bank and make a quick withdrawal from his account.

He’d taken out an envelope then, and began counting the bills out loud, deep voice steadily speaking the numbers as each note slid slowly from the paper that had contained it into his waiting paws.

When the final count was given, it was disclosed that he had brought well over the amount of funds that had been allocated to be spent on classes and treatment. The money was then slipped quickly back where it had come, those firm hands as agile as the most experienced card shark, it was like water flow from a well-maintained tap, smooth and fluid and hypnotic to the eye.

It was then that he confessed that he had elected to come for the child himself. Only that wasn’t quite as politely as he’d worded it. The man who had chosen to be absent in every important moment of his nestling's life had informed Scrooge he would be repaying him for the money he'd settled on childcare. He had not addressed him as an equal, no, it had been like the CEO of Walmart speaking to one of the maintenance workers of a particular store over their paycheck. It assuredly was not how anyone should review the care of an impressionable child. This was worsened by the fact that he was talking of separating said child from a loving family and transferring them into an environment he doubted would be any warmer than the insensitive man who sat before him.

Needless to say, it had not been long before Donald’s hostility towards the man had then been completely understood. He hadn’t been feeling particularly charitable towards him either. But he had handled the situation well, Scrooge thought. He’d told the tiger his lavish support would not be missed and had ordered Duckworth show his visitor the door.

The video recordings of what had happened afterward had provided entertainment for days. Khan’s expression had been decidedly unamused as he was thrown unceremoniously out the door, paper bills scattering like leaves around him. He’d picked up the dollars and placed them back into the envelope, somehow managing to maintain a degree of decorum where a less stalwart man might have faltered.

He’d then turned his back on the house, head held high as he got into his waiting vehicle and slowly but deliberately inched out of the driveway. When he’d gotten to the gates he’d locked gazes with the camera, pressed two fingers to his temple and saluted, a cruel parody of a smile flickering across his face as he addressed his viewer, as clear a sign as any that the ordeal was not over as there was one.

True to form, this had not been the last he’d seen of the tiger. The businessman had arrived three days later, a paper-thin veneer of false politeness shrouding him like a veil.

Something in the way he’d carried himself made him want to deck him on principle.

He had with him a missive summoning him to attend a court hearing. He’d stared at the man through the camera and wondered what had made a man who had previously shown no recognition of them so keen on the confirmation of his visitation rights that he was willing to fight him in court over that same question.

It went against what he thought he knew of the man’s character, and he didn’t like it. Further observation had shown him it had been signed by the same judge that had handled the trial.

He had grudgingly let him in then. He had no problem with letting the man see the child; it had been the way the man had handled it, was still handling it that put up his feathers like nothing else.

You did not threaten his family.

It just wasn’t done.

The man had met him and nodded his head in a greeting that had Scrooge tempted to have him thrown out to satisfy the irritation he’d felt at the other’s intrusion into his life.

He had led the other man to the nursery instead. Webbigail had volunteered to babysit today while he ran over the details of his accounts, so they entered the room to find her reading her favorite story on Unicorns.

Tiny paws were wrestling with her larger hands as they were attempting to pull the pages close enough that they could reach that tiny mouth. Webby had raised her hand in greeting, but the other corporate executive hadn’t bothered with sociability. In the blink of an eye, their erstwhile visitor had crossed the room and seized the charge from the caretaker’s arms.

It was a surprisingly gentle transfer, given the speed of the action, but the rudeness of the act did not win Khan any points for social etiquette.

He’d then found a chair to sit and had begun gently but thoroughly threading his hands through the infant’s feathers. Both Webby and Scrooge had been shocked to silence by this bizarre action until the older of the two realized what the man was doing…then came the inevitable irritation.

The Feline was looking for bruises, cuts, any signs of possible abuse that could be hidden by that brightly colored mantle. It wasn’t until he’d checked nearly every inch for signs of possible abuse that he finally returned a confused infant to Miss Vanderquack’s arms.

If the man had noticed the fierce glare the young lady had leveled on him he chose to ignore it.

He’d thanked them then and mentioned he’d had an appointment he intended to keep before he passed through the doorway as quickly as he’d come.

The man had seemed content to leave now that he knew child abuse was not something practiced by any member of the household. It was bad enough that he was letting them all know he thought they would stoop to such loathsome behavior.

The fact that he was so cold and clinical about it made it somehow worse. Why he had not felt content to avoid the tactlessness of the situation and just read the doctor’s notes left him feeling more than a little vexed. Surely suspected abuse would have warranted comment?

When he’d voiced his thoughts, Shere Khan had paused, carefully considering his response.

Then he'd looked back at him, those red eyes surprisingly contemplative as the feline’s own years of experience caught up with him for a moment, the somberness making him look old for the first time rather than ageless. He’d opted to simply sigh and say that studies had shown Parents were more likely to take frustrations that their children had not been born perfect out on the ones least able to defend themselves and that personal experience had told him Doctors were just as susceptible to bribery as everyone else.

It hadn’t been the words that had made him glance after Khan, a burning question in his throat. No, it had been the tone, like a swimmer attempting to keep their head afloat that had captured his attention.

The man of the hour had vacated the room before he could say anything further, practically fled it to be fully honest, and Scrooge had attempted to exchange glances with Webby before giving it up as a lost cause.

The only other witness to the peculiar behavior was laughingly fending off tiny paws that were suddenly interested in striking at her hair ribbon and had missed the entire exchange.

Curiosity had made him look over the security cameras, but this time it had brought him no pleasure.

He had seen the man pause for a moment to clutch at the wall before leaving like he was drowning and it was the only life support preventing the tides from sweeping them out to sea. His face had highlighted his internal battle with some powerful emotion before whatever it was had been successfully stamped mercilessly down and his earlier deportment returned, an engaging mosaic glittering with dazzling glass tesserae destroyed by forceful grasping hands leaving nothing remaining. All that was left was the dried husk of someone much more real, a person he might perhaps want to know better.

It had happened so fast he would not have caught everything had he not had access to the pause and replay buttons.

Khan had quickly regained form, and he was on his way like nothing had happened, but it had been that expression that had made him realize the tiger had not been talking hypotheticals. He knew, or more likely, given the strength of that response, was a child who had been abused by a parent. A parent who must have seen him as less for reasons Scrooge could only at, as he could not think of another tiger in his acquaintance that had truly personified the values viewed important by the Felidae quite as completely.

He remembered how cold Khan had been when he’d spoke of how he had learned of the doctor’s report and for the first time wondered how much of it had been a performance. If perhaps he’d panicked thinking family history might repeat itself in a new generation. When he had referred to childrearing as a burden, he wondered if he’d ever heard an adult refer to him as a weight.

He’d said nothing of his observations when the man returned for consecutive visits but made an attempt to be more beneficial to Khan whenever he came to check the physical well being of their child. If he thought the tiger would be a poor caretaker for children, he would have been proven more wrong. He was not especially fond of having his ears or whiskers pulled, but he endured it with a surprising amount of grace, given the image he presented to others.

The two had agreed to start seeing one another in more neutral settings after Dewie had come up with the ah, brilliant idea to start a prank war to scare away what he and the other children had come to see as an unwanted intruder in their home.

They had not factored in that Donald, the poor ill-fated soul that he was, might unknowingly set off their little series of traps, but it had ended with the unintended victim bound, gagged, and covered in ants.

It was not fair how misfortune appeared to consistently lay her vindictive eyes on someone so undeserving.

He had made the error of letting Khan join them on the ride to the hospital to get his nephew medical help after he had been stung multiple times and had begun to undergo severe symptoms.

Stress levels were already high when a quarrel had broken up among the children in the back seat of the car over who was most at fault. They had all appreciated a little too late that the expected target was listening, and now knew that if they’d had their way, it would be him on the way to the hospital instead of Donald.

A tense pause had come over them all and Scrooge had wondered if he might have a fight on his hands and wished he’d had someone else he trusted with watching a toddler at his home so that he would have Beakley’s comforting presence beside him now.

With her at his side he felt he could take on the world, her no-nonsense attitude the perfect calm in his storm.

He had been furious with the children as well, Donald should not have been at risk among his own kin, and he would be having a word or two to his service provider to ensure a few programs would never again be played in his home, but he would allow no harm to come to them.

Fortunately attacking small ducklings did not seem to be on the tiger’s agenda.

The narrowing of his eyes and the sudden stiffness in his posture was the only sign he had heard them. A hush descended on them, thick and heavy, suffocating any conversation that might have sprung up otherwise, he could not even tell them off for what they had done, disquieted that this might set off a reaction in the man he might be unprepared to handle.

Instead of confronting them directly, Khan had remained still. He’d only moved when they had arrived. Then it had been to select a chair in the emergency room to sit, tail raising to allow for comfortable seating, before crossing one leg over the other in a way that he might have described as graceful if he was not concerned about possible violence from the man they were attached to. Lastly, his paws were folded neatly in his lap, the very image of practiced patience.

Scrooge had sat next to him, wanting to keep a close watch on the tiger as practicable. He’d found himself looking at those paws that had so captivated his attention earlier. Sitting so close to Khan he could see the sharp tips of the man’s claws, sheathed as they were by skin and fur. He found himself wondering how they would look fully retracted and if, like most felids, he hid the dewclaw beneath his clothing, that additional claw with which his ancestors had once used to catch and hold prey.

He had seen wild cats use them on prey before and the image of the man doing the same to one of them would not leave his mind. It had been a long wait, everyone distressed over a hurt family member and hyperaware of the tight-lipped predator in the room, the only movement had been his tail, flicking a quiet metronome with the clock.

None of them had been allowed to wait with Donald, and the constant strain had set everyone’s nerves on edge.

Dewie had been the first one to cave under its pressure; he’d advanced on Khan as one might corner a ticking time bomb.

With the air of someone who believed he was signing his own death certificate, he confessed to having planned and executed the entire sordid affair. He had been interrupted by Huey who had protested his younger brother’s act of self-sacrifice claiming he had been the one who had gathered the ants in the first place, Louie had awkwardly admitted, shoving tears from his eyes, that he’d underestimated the danger the prank represented after they’d watched stuntmen on tv walk away from the trap without breaking a sweat when the original prank idea was deemed boring by the group.

In short, the entire lot of them were all young boys who had acted without truly thinking about the repercussions of what they had signed up for before they’d acted.

In their favor, they had at least substituted fire ants for carpenter ants who were less likely to purposely sting someone if they could get away from them first.

Still, if it were possible to die from mortification, he would have surely been in jeopardy of passing at that moment.

Shere Khan had stared down at them, dark eyes imperious, he had opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by the Doctor’s arrival, and he’d diverted his deference to the medical professional.

Donald had been administered a series of drugs to help him with his body’s response to the stings, and while they’d prefer to keep him overnight for observation, they were confident he would be well enough to go home the next day.

He’d heaved an internal sigh of relief then, glad to see one predicament resolved safely. Shere Khan had nodded and thanked the man. Then those eyes had settled back on him, he was close enough for Scrooge to see how very red the man’s eyes were, the kind of deep red it would be impossible to remove from a man’s feathers, bold and overpowering, the stain would remain long after the attempts to scrub them clean had been surrendered.

He’d asked then if he could be content to rely on him to ensure proper punishment was meted out, as he would rather not go to hall over the issue if the matter could just as easily be settled out of it. He’d stared at the man for a moment, understanding he had been waiting for an official medical report to be declared before deciding how seriously he would be taking the prank gone horribly wrong. He’d resolved, likely because Donald was set to make a clean recovery, it was best to leave the punishments to the family.

It was a logical way of assessing the situation, and for a moment he’d begrudged him for his ability to keep sensible in an emergency.

He’d wondered for a moment, what would have happened had Donald’s recovery taken a turn for the worse. He’d cut off that line of thinking at the root, not at all comfortable where it lead.

He’d nodded to the tiger, and assured him he would be taking the crisis very seriously indeed. The man had caught his eyes for a moment, quietly judging his words, before he’d nodded, trusting what he’d said at his word.

He’d departed then, removing himself from the chair with what he could now grant in the privacy of his own mind, was a finesse owned by few.

They’d snuck in to visit Donald for a moment, none of them content to leave without visiting the patient, and then they’d headed home in reserved reticence, the children wondering what he designed to do to them, and he depleted beyond words by the entire mess the evening had been.

He had left the actual punishment to Beakley as he’d never been good at that end of guardianship. Part of him always felt it was either too permissive or more severe than the situation required, but he fully embraced the “it takes a village” approach his family took to child rearing and felt her the better arbiter of what should be done.

It had been her to advise going on outings away from home (weeks before the disturbance, but he’d snubbed her, not aching to be anywhere near Khan in an environment where he did not have the home field advantage), and they had begun finding places for their nipper to visit.

Paradoxically he’d felt more comfortable around the man after his nephews had made their misguided attempt to remove him from their lives. Maybe it was the fact that he had kept his head after hearing what the children had ventured to do to him, but he no longer seemed quite as menacing as he had before the event.

It had caused him to do a reassessment and what he’d found had made him feel uneasy.

The man had unnerved him, and on an instinctual level, this made sense.

His ancestors had been hunted by animals very like the cat himself, and, typically speaking, even in more modern times the individual peoples, Avians, Felids, Canids, lapins, Ursi, and the many many many others that coexisted in the beautiful world they lived, tended to stick to their own. Truth be told Donald had been the only one he had known who had actively sought the company of a Dog and a Mouse with any degree of regularity.

Even that had seemed to drop off after the boys had hatched as he’d yet to hear the slightest mention of either Mickey or George in his presence since Donald had arrived.

He had, without meaning to, approached the man as one would a dangerous predator, and the children in all likelihood taken note of his behavior and decided he should be treated accordingly. Which was honestly was not fair to the man in question.

Shere Khan was by no means a “people” person, but he had been making more attempts at cordiality since the second meeting.

He’d certainly never threatened him or his family physical harm, unlike Flintheart, who was still sketching out his demise, even after being made Godfather(he would always lament the decision to cave to his nemesis’ demands. Glomgold’s struggles at an Italian-American accent were absolutely atrocious). So, with that in mind, he’d set out to be…nice.

To his surprise, after the inevitable gaucherie that came from tearing off the plastic of a new idea, meeting with Shere Khan, actually enjoying himself rather than being content to remain stonily civil, had become surprisingly easy to do.

And, most surprising of all, he had begun to look forward to the play dates the two men scheduled for their kid.

There was something about being with someone who remembered historical events you’d lived through who was neither related to you nor has pledged their life to ending yours that he would found somehow freeing in a way he’d only found before with Goldie.

Even better was that it had none of the heavy emotional complexities that would always exist between himself and the woman who was, he admitted to himself, the great love of his life. Instead, he’d found an intelligent conversationalist and occasional debate partner to discuss current events and frequently laugh over what the modern Americans felt were “traditional values” that had in no way been present when either of them had been children.

Khan was close-mouthed about the events of his childhood, but he suspected from the way the man carried himself, calm and poised, never too angry or too pleased, never allowing himself to seem too emotionally vested in things he cared about lest they were potentially used against him, that it had not been a good one. These were all signs of emotional abuse, of that he knew.

What little Scrooge did know was that the man was an Indian Immigrant who had been born during the time of the English occupation of India, but after the revolution that had ended the control of the East Indian Trade Company.

It was not an easy time for anyone to have grown up in and he did not press his… companion to share information he did not wish to give.

Instead, he did what he usually did when faced with a person of interest with a complicated and potentially traumatic backstory he knew nothing about and suspected asking outright could cause more trouble than it was worth, he had paid an aide to look into the subject’s history behind his back.

He was bad enough at handling interactions between himself and people he knew had sensitive sides best not prodded. A clear example of this could be seen in the relationship he shared with Donald.

(though he suspected there might have been something psychological in that. his nephew reminded him far too strongly of people he had also shared a problematic relationship with and at times it had unintentionally bled through without his notice)

He did not want to accidentally fumble over some old hurt and set Khan off, especially now that things were surprisingly pleasant between them. Irritatingly the search had given him absolutely nothing to work with. The name “Shere Khan” had been present in the birth records documenting the birth of Indian tiger cubs but none had matched his description.

This had left him to conclude that either the status of Khan’s parents had been so low his birth would not have been registered, or the name everyone knew him by was a pseudonym.

It would surely explain why the name “Shere Khan” hadn’t appeared attached to a man of his classification until a certain entrepreneur had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Either option, he knew would not be welcomed as a topic for casual conversation, so he had resigned himself to doing what he had initially pretended to do and “let things be.”

Moreover, no what he had done after making that decision was not in fact pouting, no matter how many people had brazenly asked him why he was supposedly doing it.

This meant they had needed to find out for themselves what they considered to be “safe” topics to argue over.

Furthermore, neither of them had been willing to let social etiquette dictate what they discussed, so everything short of Khan’s childhood seemed fair game.

And so, it was politics had been the first topic they had ever argued over since he’d unofficially called a truce.

Specifically FDR, Khan was surprisingly enamored with what he remembered of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and Scrooge had nearly spat out his drink at that revelation. Yes, he’d managed to make a successful political comeback in the face of a debilitating illness(whether it was poliomyelitis or Guillain–Barré syndrome) that had left him paralyzed from the waist down, but his memories of the man were not as positive, and the faults he had found in his personality only began with his infuriating ego. This had been the same ego that had Roosevelt confident enough to order then vice president Truman to use the servant’s door simply because he had not liked him. They had eventually agreed to differ, realizing each was very set in their thoughts of the man and it would most probably never change. FDR had done his damndest to foster a cult personality, and Khan was apparently one of many who had fallen for it.

He had acknowledged the deceased president had his faults and had made decisions he had greatly disagreed with, not the least of which was his internment of the Japanese Americans which both had agreed had been wrong then, and an act of politically motivated racism that was one of the many political settlementssettlements that had left a smear on American history.

However, despite acknowledging his faults, he’d continued to like the man in spite of it all, and there was really nothing more that could be said about that.

Over time Scrooge, with very few exceptions, had come to dislike most politicians as a rule as he considered them professional conmen who expected to be lauded every election year for the effort they put into fleecing their constituents over and often damaging the world around them. Khan had seemed to respect his opinion on the matter, so he had backed down.

There were worse presidents to consider, after all. For example, if Khan had confessed to a fondness for Lyndon Baines Johnson, he would have had to end all conversation there, as even Flintheart had called that man evil in ways that were utterly unflattering.

However, thankfully he had found ol’ LBJ as distasteful as he did and they’d peaceably ended the discussion cheerfully making jokes at the expense of the newest disaster that had been elected into office, before he had left for home, carrying a sleeping toddler in his arms.

That had been summer, a time full of pushing boundaries and reflecting on ideas from a different perspective. They had hit museums and art galleries the world over and examined the history and religion behind individual works.

The children had started to join in on occasion, always accompanied by Launchpad.

During one memorable visit Khan, despite being an avowed atheist(who admitted to having met beings who had been worshiped as deities but had refused to see them as such himself), had proven such a wealth on the Hindi religions he’d felt content to stand back to let him discuss the impacts the Islamic invasion had left on the culture and art of India.

Christianity was included, though he seemed less inclined to speak of it, particularly the take over of the country by the English.

He seemed more set in speaking on the cuisine of the Goenche Katholiks, an Indo-Latin ethnic group, which had supposedly been valued as cooks by some of the Anglican households for their willingness to work with forbidden meat.

Even the children had noticed how he had seemed to have become more sullen as he spoke of the English.

But when Huey had asked to know more about Goenche Katholiks, he had cheerfully launched into the horrors of the Goan Inquisition and the special interest the Portuguese monks had taken against the Shudras(the lowest of the four social castes) and the Curumbins(a group of tribal unmentionables, that were seen to be outside the Four castes).

The children had been traumatized, and he had learned history lessons with Shere Khan would from then on be an adult only event.

The tiger had apparently never learned to properly filter what age-appropriate descriptions of violence from his language were. He had treated them for ice cream for the trauma they had suffered and had resigned himself to the rebuke he knew he would receive the moment Donald heard what had happened. The lecture was worse than he had suspected as even Beakley had felt the need to express her disapproval, and he had been thoroughly dressed down for allowing the development to proceed.

Later the kids would try to join him at the door, finding the tiger unquestionably captivating after having overcome the trauma of that lesson.

Scrooge had been forced to put his webbed foot down.

Said tiger would have to learn he could not say such things in front of children before he trusted him again with the psychological well being of his nephews.

The season had slowly moved into the lull of fall, and things between them had mostly settled comfortably into the new normal.

Parenting might not have been in his plans, but he was glad for it now as he watched their munchkin, larger now, and bundled up in a soft Inverness coat, the color a bright beech wood that worked well with the wearer’s natural coloring. He was smiling hard enough to hurt as he walked with Khan watching youthful exuberance in action. Their tiny tyke, excited by the changing seasons as anyone, was rolling in practically every pile of fallen leaves, before raising paws to bat at them as multicolored fronds floated back down. He’d stared at the sky, pushing back his brown scarf, red coat keeping him protected in the face of a late autumnal afternoon.

It would be evening soon, and they had a path through the forest to retrace before nightfall, but he was reluctant to end things between them all so soon.

Not when it was one of those rare perfect days that reminded you that life, even a seemingly endless one like his, would always have it’s joy and laughter to level out with every other bit of nonsense and make it worth living.

He startled when he heard an excited squeal of laughter and turned back to see Khan, clad in a dark blue high collared coat had scooped up their child whom he had very seriously declared was now an airplane and whirled them playfully through the air, strong paws holding the tiny body tight and secure.

The little one had tried to keep a tight hold on one of the leaves collected from the forest floor but had dropped it in the excitement, and when Khan had stopped, resecuring his precious cargo in his left arm, the child had attempted to reach for another, little eyes wide and desperate.

Amused, he’d plucked one up from the tree above.

The smallest of their number had been delighted as if the secrets of the universe were held in that one little leaf.

The tiger’s dark red eyes had turned fond in the warm glow of the sun, and Scrooge had taken his other paw then feeling the need to be close to them both, unaware of how soft he’d looked then.

Khan’s eyes had widened upon feeling the soft but unmistakable pressure of his hand, and the smaller of the two was hit with the full force of a sight seen by very few, the tiger’s crooked grin, untainted by maliciousness or ulterior motives.

Scrooge smiled once more, and regretfully directed his partner to the path that led home.

One day they would discuss what those open smiles and clasped hands meant in greater detail, or the dark look in the tiger’s eyes meant when he said the word ‘mother’ and avoided discussion of his childhood when Scrooge would share his intimately, but for now, they were content to just be.

Two former strangers well on the way to becoming something more, and the future that connected them both.

[prowlpetrex]

P5

their thoughts of the man and it would most probably never change. FDR had done his damndest to cultivate a cult personality, and Khan was apparently one of many who had fallen for it. He had acknowledged the deceased president had his faults and had made decisions he had greatly disagreed with, not the least of which was his internment of the Japanese Americans which both had agreed had been wrong then, and an act of politically motivated racism that was one of the many political decisions that had left a smear on American history. However, despite acknowledging his faults, he’d continued to like the man in spite of it all, and there was really nothing more that could be said about that. Over time Scrooge, with very few exceptions, had come to dislike most politicians as a rule as he considered them professional conmen who expected to be lauded every election year for the effort they put into fleecing their constituents over and often damaging the world around them. Khan had seemed to respect his opinion on the matter, so he had backed down. There were worse presidents to consider, after all. For example, if Khan had confessed to a fondness for Lyndon Baines Johnson, he would have had to end all conversation there, as even Flintheart had called that man evil in ways that were utterly unflattering. However, thankfully he had found ol’ LBJ as distasteful as he did and they’d peaceably ended the discussion cheerfully making jokes at the expense of the newest mess that had been elected into office, before he had left for home, carrying a sleeping child in his arms. That had been summer, a time full of pushing boundaries and considering ideas from a different perspective. They had visited museums and art galleries the world over and discussed the history and religion behind individual works. The children had started to join in on occasion. And during one memorable visit Khan, despite being an avowed atheist(who admitted to having met beings who had been worshiped as deities but had refused to see them as such himself), had proven such a wealth on the Hindi religions he’d felt content to stand back to let him discuss the impacts the Islamic invasion had left on the culture and art of India. Christianity was included, though he seemed less inclined to speak of it, particularly the take over of the country by the English. He seemed more set in speaking on the cuisine of the Goenche Katholiks, an Indo-Latin ethnic group, which had supposedly been valued as cooks by some of the Anglican households for their willingness to work with forbidden meat. Even the children had noticed how he had seemed to have become more sullen as he spoke of the English. But when Huey had asked to know more about Goenche Katholiks, he had cheerfully launched into the horrors of the Goan Inquisition and the special interest the Portuguese monks had taken against the Shudras(the lowest of the four social castes) and the Curumbins(a group of tribal unmentionables, that were seen to be outside the Four castes). The children had been traumatized, and he had learned history lessons with Shere Khan would from then on be an adult only event. The tiger had apparently never learned to properly filter what age-appropriate descriptions of violence from his language were. He had treated them for ice cream for the trauma they had suffered and had resigned himself to the lecture he knew he would receive the moment Donald heard what had happened. The lecture was worse than he had suspected as even Beakley had felt the need to express her disapproval. Later the kids would try to join him at the door, finding the tiger unquestionably fascinating after having overcome the trauma of that lesson. Scrooge had been forced to put his foot down. Said tiger would have to learn he could not say such things in front of children before he trusted him again with the psychological well being of his nephews. The season had slowly moved into the lull of fall, and things between them had mostly settled comfortably into the new normal. Parenting might not have been in his plans, but he was glad for it now as he watched their child, larger now, and bundled up in a soft Inverness coat, the color a bright beech wood that worked well with the wearer’s natural coloring. He was smiling hard enough to hurt as he walked with Khan watching youthful exuberance in action. Their tiny bundle of joy, excited by the changing seasons as anyone, was rolling in practically every pile of fallen leaves, before raising paws to bat at them as the multicolored leaves floated back down. He’d stared at the sky, pushing back his brown scarf, red coat keeping him comfortable in the face of a late autumnal afternoon. It would be night soon, and they had a path through the forest to retrace before nightfall, but he was reluctant to end things between them all so soon. Not when it was one of those rare perfect days that reminded you that life, even a seemingly endless one like his, would always have it’s joy and laughter to level out with every other bit of nonsense and make it worth living. He startled when he heard an excited squeal of laughter and turned back to see Khan, clad in a dark blue high collared coat had scooped up their child whom he had very seriously declared was now an airplane and whirled them playfully through the air, strong paws holding the tiny body tight and secure. The little one had tried to keep a tight hold on one of the leaves collected from the forest floor but had dropped it in the excitement, and when Khan had stopped, resecuring his precious cargo in his left arm, the child had attempted to reach for another, little eyes wide and desperate. Amused, he’d plucked one up from the tree above. The littlest of their number had been delighted as if the secrets of the universe were held in that one little leaf. The tiger’s dark red eyes had turned fond in the warm glow of the sun, and Scrooge had taken his other paw then feeling the need to be close to them both, unaware of how soft he’d looked then. Khan’s eyes had widened upon feeling the soft but unmistakable pressure of his hand, and the smaller of the two was hit with the full force of a sight seen by very few, the tiger’s crooked grin, untainted by maliciousness or ulterior motives. Scrooge smiled once more, and regretfully directed his partner to the path that led home. One day they would discuss what those open smiles and clasped hands meant in greater detail, or the dark look in the tiger’s eyes meant when he said the word ‘mother’ and avoided discussion of his childhood when Scrooge would share his intimately, but for now, they were content to just be. Two former strangers well on the way to becoming something more, and the future that connected them both.

[prowlpetrex]

P4

underestimated the danger the prank represented after they’d watched stuntmen on tv walk away from the trap without breaking a sweat when the original prank idea was deemed boring by the group. In short, the entire lot of them were all children who had acted without truly thinking about the repercussions of what they had signed up for before they’d acted. In their favor, they had at least substituted fire ants for carpenter ants who were less likely to intentionally sting someone if they could get away from them first. Still, if it were possible to die from mortification, he would have surely been in danger of passing at that moment. Shere Khan had stared down at them, dark eyes imperious, he had opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by the Doctor’s arrival, and he’d diverted his attention to the medical professional. Donald had been administered a series of drugs to help him with his body’s response to the stings, and while they’d prefer to keep him overnight for observation, they were confident he would be well enough to go home the next day. He’d heaved an internal sigh of relief then, glad to see one problem resolved safely. Shere Khan had nodded and thanked the man. then those eyes had settled back on him, he was close enough for Scrooge to see how very red the man’s eyes were, the kind of deep red it would be impossible to remove from a man’s feathers, bold and overpowering, the stain would remain long after the attempts to scrub them clean had been surrendered. He’d asked then if he could be content to rely on him to ensure proper punishment was meted out, as he would rather not go to court over the issue if it could just as easily be settled out of it. He’d stared at the man for a moment, realizing he had been waiting for an official medical report to be issued before deciding how seriously he would be taking the prank gone horribly wrong. He’d decided, likely because Donald was set to make a clean recovery, it was best to leave the punishments to the family. It was a logical way of assessing the situation, and for a moment he’d envied him for his ability to keep rational in an emergency. He’d wondered for a moment, what would have happened had Donald’s recovery taken a turn for the worse. He’d cut off that line of thinking at the root, not at all comfortable where it lead. He’d nodded to the tiger, and assured him he would be taking the matter very seriously indeed. The man had caught his eyes for a moment, quietly judging his words, before he’d nodded, accepting what he’d said at his word. He’d departed then, removing himself from the chair with what he could now admit in the privacy of his own mind, was a grace owned by few. They’d snuck in to visit Donald for a moment, none of them content to leave without visiting the patient, and then they’d headed home in silence, the children wondering what he planned to do to them, and he exhausted beyond words by the entire mess the evening had been. He had left the actual punishment to Beakley as he’d never been good at that end of guardianship. Part of him always felt it was either too lenient or harsher than the situation required, but he fully embraced the “it takes a village” approach his family took to child rearing and felt her to be the better judge of what should be done. It had been her to suggest going on outings away from home (weeks before the incident, but he’d ignored her, not wanting to be anywhere near Khan in an environment where he did not have the home field advantage), and they had begun finding places for their child to visit. Paradoxically he’d felt more comfortable around the man after his nephews had made their misguided attempt to remove him from their lives. Maybe it was the fact that he had kept his head after learning what the children had attempted to do to him, but he no longer seemed quite as threatening as he had before the event. It had caused him to do a reassessment and what he’d found had made him feel uncomfortable. The man had unnerved him, and on an instinctual level, this made sense. His ancestors had been hunted by animals very like the cat himself, and, typically speaking, even in more modern times the individual peoples, Avians, Felids, Canids, lapins, Ursi, and the many many many others that coexisted in the beautiful world they lived, tended to stick to their own. Truth be told Donald had been the only one he had known who had actively sought the company of a Dog and a Mouse with any degree of frequency. Even that had seemed to drop off after the boys had hatched as he’d yet to hear the slightest mention of either Mickey or George in his presence since Donald had arrived. He had, without meaning to, approached the man as one would a dangerous predator, and the children in all likelihood taken note of his behavior and decided he should be treated accordingly. Which in all honesty was not fair to the man in question. Shere Khan was by no means a “people” person, but he had been making more attempts at cordiality since the second meeting. He’d certainly never threatened him or his family physical harm, unlike Flintheart, who was still planning out his demise, even after being made Godfather(he would always regret the decision to cave to his nemesis’ demands. Glomgold’s attempt at an Italian-American accent was absolutely atrocious). So, with that in mind, he’d set out to be…nice. To his surprise, after the inevitable awkwardness that came from tearing off the plastic of a new idea, meeting with Shere Khan, actually enjoying himself rather than being content to remain stonily civil, had become surprisingly easy to do. And, most surprising of all, he had begun to look forward to the play dates the two men scheduled for their child. There was something about being with someone who remembered historical events you’d lived through who was neither related to you nor has pledged their life to ending yours that he would found somehow freeing in a way he’d only found before with Goldie. Even better was that it had none of the heavy emotional complexities that would always exist between himself and the woman who was, he admitted to himself, the great love of his life. Instead, he’d found an intelligent conversationalist and occasional debate partner to discuss current events and frequently laugh over what the modern Americans felt were “traditional values” that had in no way been present when either of them had been children. Khan was close-mouthed about the events of his childhood, but he suspected from the way the man carried himself, calm and poised, never too angry or too pleased, never allowing himself to seem too emotionally vested in things he cared about lest they were potentially used against him, that it had not been a good one. These were all signs of emotional abuse, of that he knew. What little Scrooge did know was that the man was an Indian Immigrant who had been born during the time of the English occupation of India, but after the revolution that had ended the control of the East Indian Trade Company. It was not an easy time for anyone to have grown up in and he did not press his… friend to share information he did not wish to give. Instead, he did what he usually did when faced with a person of interest with a complicated and potentially traumatic backstory he knew nothing about and suspected asking outright could cause more trouble than it was worth, he had paid an aide to look into the subject’s history behind his back. He was bad enough at handling interactions between himself and people he knew had sensitive sides best not prodded. A clear example of this could be seen in the relationship he shared with Donald. (though he suspected there might have been something psychological in that. his nephew reminded him far too strongly of people he had also shared a problematic relationship with and at times it had unintentionally bled through without his notice), he did not want to accidentally fumble over some old hurt and set Khan off, especially now that things were surprisingly pleasant between them. Irritatingly the search had given him absolutely nothing to work with. The name “Shere Khan” had been present in the birth records recording the birth of Indian tiger cubs but none had matched his description. This had left him to conclude that either the status of Khan’s parents had been so low his birth would not have been recorded, or the name everyone knew him by was a pseudonym. It would certainly explain why the name “Shere Khan” hadn’t appeared till a certain entrepreneur had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Either option, he knew would not be welcomed as a topic for casual conversation, so he had resigned himself to doing what he had initially pretended to do and “let things be.” Moreover, no what he had done after making that decision was not in fact pouting, no matter how many people had rudely asked him why he was supposedly doing it. This meant they had needed to find out for themselves what they considered to be “safe” topics to argue over. Furthermore, neither of them had been willing to let social etiquette dictate what they discussed, so everything short of Khan’s childhood seemed fair game. And so, it was politics had been the first topic they had ever argued over since he’d unofficially called a truce. Specifically FDR, Khan was surprisingly enamored with what he remembered of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and Scrooge had nearly spat out his drink at that revelation. Yes, he’d managed to make a successful political comeback in the face of a debilitating illness(whether it was poliomyelitis or Guillain–Barré syndrome) that had left him paralyzed from the waist down, but his memories of the man were not as positive, and the faults he had found in his personality only began with his infuriating ego. This had been the same ego that had Roosevelt confident enough to order then vice president Truman to use the servant’s door simply because he had not liked him. They had eventually agreed to differ, realizing each was very set in

[prowlpetrex]

P3

He had with him a missive summoning him to attend a court hearing. He’d stared at the man through the camera and wondered what had made a man who had previously shown no interest in them so keen on the acknowledgment of his visitation rights that he was willing to fight him in court over that same issue. It went against what he thought he knew of the man’s character, and he didn’t like it. Further observation had shown him it had been signed by the same judge that had handled the trial. He had grudgingly let him in then. He had no problem with letting the man see the child; it had been the way the man had handled it, was still handling it that put up his feathers like nothing else. You did not threaten his family. It just wasn’t done. The man had met him and nodded his head in a greeting that had Scrooge tempted to have him thrown out to satisfy the irritation he’d felt at the other’s intrusion into his life. He had led the other man to the nursery instead. Webbigail had volunteered to babysit today while he ran over his bills with his accounts, so they entered the room to find her reading her favorite story on Unicorns. Tiny paws were wrestling with her larger hands as they were attempting to pull the pages close enough that they could reach that tiny mouth. Webby had raised her hand in greeting, but the other corporate executive hadn’t bothered with social niceties. In the blink of an eye, their erstwhile visitor had crossed the room and seized the charge from the caretaker’s arms. It was a surprisingly gentle transfer, given the speed of the action, but the rudeness of the act did not win Khan any points for social etiquette. He’d then found a chair to sit and had begun gently but thoroughly threading his hands through the infant’s feathers. Both Webby and Scrooge had been shocked to silence by this bizarre action until the older of the two realized what the man was doing…then came the inevitable irritation. The Feline was looking for bruises, cuts, any signs of possible abuse that could be hidden by that brightly colored plumage. It wasn’t until he’d checked nearly every inch for signs of possible abuse that he finally returned a confused infant to Miss Vanderquack’s arms. If the man had noticed the fierce glare the young lady had leveled on him he chose to ignore it. He’d thanked them then and mentioned he’d had an appointment he intended to keep before he passed through the doorway as quickly as he’d come. The man had seemed content to leave now that he knew child abuse was not something practiced by any member of the household. It was bad enough that he was letting them all know he thought they would stoop to such loathsome behavior. The fact that he was so cold and clinical about it made it somehow worse. Why he had not felt content to avoid the awkwardness of the situation and just read the doctor’s notes left him feeling more than a little vexed. Surely suspected abuse would have warranted comment? When he’d voiced his thoughts, Shere Khan had paused, carefully considering his response. Then he'd looked back at him, those red eyes surprisingly contemplative as the feline’s own years of experience caught up with him for a moment, the somberness making him look old for the first time rather than ageless. He’d opted to simply sigh and say that studies had shown Parents were more likely to take frustrations that their children had not been born perfect out on the ones least able to defend themselves and that personal experience had told him Doctors were just as susceptible to bribery as everyone else. It hadn’t been the words that had made him glance after Khan, a burning question in his throat. No, it had been the tone, like a swimmer attempting to keep their head afloat that had captured his attention. The man of the hour had vacated the room before he could say anything further, practically fled it to be fully honest, and Scrooge had attempted to exchange glances with Webby before giving it up as a lost cause. The only other witness to the strange behavior was laughingly fending off tiny paws that were suddenly interested in batting at her hair ribbon and had missed the entire exchange. Curiosity had made him look over the security cameras, but this time it had brought him no pleasure. He had seen the man pause for a moment to clutch at the wall before leaving like he was drowning and it was the only life support preventing the tides from sweeping them out to sea. His face had highlighted his internal battle with some sort of powerful emotion before whatever it was had been successfully stamped mercilessly down and his expression was cleared of all emotion. All that was left was the dried husk of someone much more real, a person he might perhaps want to know better. It had happened so fast he would not have caught everything had he not had access to the pause and replay buttons. Khan had quickly regained form, and he was on his way like nothing had happened, but it had been that expression that had made him realize Khan had not been talking hypotheticals. He knew, or more likely, given the strength of that response, was a child who had been abused by a parent. A parent who must have seen him as less for reasons Scrooge could only at, as he could not think of another tiger in his acquaintance that had truly embodied the values viewed important by the Felidae quite as strongly. He remembered how cold Khan had been when he’d spoke of how he had learned of the doctor’s report and for the first time wondered how much of it had been an act. If perhaps he’d panicking thinking family history might repeat itself in a new generation. When he had referred to childrearing as a burden, he wondered if he’d ever heard an adult refer to him as a weight. He’d said nothing of his observations when the man returned for consecutive visits but made an attempt to be considerably more friendly to Khan whenever he came to check the physical well being of their child. If he thought the tiger would be a poor caretaker for children, he would have been proven more wrong. He was not especially fond of having his ears or whiskers pulled, but he accepted it with a surprising amount of grace, given the image he presented to others. The two had agreed to start seeing one another in more neutral settings after Dewie had come up with the ah, brilliant idea to start a prank war to scare away what he and the other children had come to see as an unwanted intruder in their home. They had not factored in how different Donald, the poor unlucky soul that he was, had unknowingly set off the series of traps that had ended with the unintended victim bound, gagged, and covered in ants. He had made the mistake of letting Khan join them on the ride to the hospital to get his nephew medical help after he had been stung multiple times and had begun to experience severe symptoms. Stress levels were already high when an argument had broken up among the children in the back seat of the car over who was most at fault. They had all realized a little too late that the intended target was listening, and now knew that if they’d had their way, it would be him on the way to the hospital instead of Donald. A tense pause had come over them all and Scrooge had wondered if he might have a fight on his hands and wished he’d had someone else he trusted with watching an infant at his home so that he would have Beakley’s comforting presence beside him now. With her at his side he felt he could take on the world, her no-nonsense attitude the perfect calm in his storm. He had been furious with the children as well, Donald should not have been at risk among his own kin, and he would be having a word or two to his service provider to ensure a few programs would never again be played in his home, but he would allow no harm to come to them. Fortunately attacking them did not seem to be on the man’s agenda. The narrowing of his eyes and the sudden stiffness in his posture was the only sign he had heard them. A silence descended on them, thick and heavy, suffocating any conversation that might have sprung up otherwise, he could not even tell them off for what they had done, concerned that this might set off a reaction in the man he might be unprepared to handle. Instead of confronting them directly, Khan had remained silent. He’d only moved when they had arrived. Then it had been to select a chair in the emergency room to sit, tail raising to allow for comfortable seating, before crossing one leg over the other in a way that he might have described as graceful if he was not concerned about possible violence from the man they were attached to.  Lastly, his paws were folded neatly in his lap, the very image of practiced patience. Scrooge had sat next to him, wanting to keep a close watch on the tiger as possible. He’d found himself looking at those paws that had so attracted his attention earlier. Sitting so close to Khan he could see the sharp tips of the man’s claws, sheathed as they were by skin and fur. He found himself wondering how they would look fully retracted and if, like most felids, he hid the dewclaw beneath his clothing, that additional claw with which his ancestors had once used to catch and hold prey. He had seen wild cats use them on prey before and the image of the man doing the same to one of them would not leave his mind. It had been a long wait, everyone worried about Donald and hyperaware of the silent predator in the room, the only movement had been his tail, flicking a quiet metronome with the clock. None of them had been allowed to wait in the room, and the constant tension had set everyone’s nerves on edge. Dewie had been the first one to cave under its pressure; he’d approached Khan as one might approach a ticking time bomb. With the air of someone who believed he was signing his own death certificate, he confessed to having planned and executed the entire sordid affair. He had been interrupted by Huey who had protested his younger brother’s act of self-sacrifice claiming he had been the one who had gathered the ants in the first place, Louie had awkwardly admitted, batting tears from his eyes, that he’d

[prowlpetrex]

P 2

from the onset. The attention received from the other parents in the parenting classes he had been forced into taking by the unexpected but efficient team up of Donald and Beakley had been alarming. He still didn’t know how they had somehow convinced him it was necessary to take parenting classes let alone continue to attend after he’d practically been mobbed that first lesson. He was willing to schedule activities for them to do together, but the people and their questions could drive a man to distraction. There were enough birds of striking plumage in the world that he felt no need to discuss the unique parentage that had resulted in such a unique appearance. Enough attention was drawn by virtue of being an avian of unknown parentage and a member of his household. He feared the truth could only do harm in this case and was set on keeping it a secret. The only people in a position to inform anyone had nothing to gain from the revelation. Even Glomgold had apparently decided that discretion was the better part of vengeance because he had practically mowed down the door in his attempt to break in a few weeks before the child’s naming day(which he had been tentatively invited to, much to Scrooge’s later regret) and had demanded to be made Godfather. He had, after all, played a part in the safe recovery of the newest member of clan McDuck. Scrooge had been forced to concede that the man did have a point and had allowed his nemesis to be the Godfather of his child. He had also sent an invitation to Khan as an afterthought, but it had gone unanswered. The ceremony was composed mostly out of the members from his household and a few of the other parents(and their children) he’d met in class who weren’t entirely objectionable. They’d then attended a reception Flintheart had graciously paid for out of pocket. Scrooge had been momentarily stunned by his act of kindness before the other shoe had dropped. Glomgold had gleefully informed him that this fact had technically made them family and didn’t that just ruffle your tailfeathers McDuck? No, of course not Flinty.(Yes it did) Barring the fact that he now had paperwork and one very dedicated little girl’s flow chart to inform the world t Flintheart Glomgold was connected to him in an annoying important way, everything had seemed to be going well. Perhaps it was going too well, and that had been the trouble. His family had never been as susceptible to bad luck as it was during moments when life seemed nearly perfect. It had been during one of the more labor-intensive activities when he noticed his child seemed to dislike physical activity. No… that hadn’t quite been it. While often active there were times when the movement became impossible without complaint and often tears. He would stop the moment the game no longer seemed fun, but it left him puzzled. It did not seem to have any particular pattern. An activity might seem the best thing ever one day and the worst of tortures the next. With the age being still too young to get any verbal confirmation over what the trouble was he had sought medical assistance. The routine check-up had turned into a week-long sabbatical, and the end results had not been good. The two subjects that had been used to create the new unique individual were not compatible on a biological level, and it had resulted in a myriad of physical problems that had become more evident as the child aged. He’d sat in his room assessing the paperwork that addressed everything his child would need to deal with on a regular basis. He had needed a moment to collect himself but had resolved to be the most supportive parent he could be. He’d then set about ordering every recommended item on the list provided by the professionals. From leg braces to various medications, he’d ordered it all. Everything that would allow for a childhood as comfortable as could be provided. He’d also needed to take an evening off to himself to process just how much money he had spent that day, but that was what family was for. Donald had been happy to help, and he had taken off to South America to explore the ancient ruins that bore striking similarities to those that had also been found in India. Evidence of the migration of Early people made for a fascinating topic of interest, and he had wanted to see more of it for himself. He’d apparently looked very much the tourist which had attracted the attention of a local scam artist. The fox had tried to put the moves on him in a game of cards, but he was familiar with the act, and when he had seen the man taking cards out of his sleeves he’d nearly rolled his eyes. If he cheated a little himself afterwards… well, no one but him would know. The game had ended with the man owing him money and Scrooge feeling spectacularly good about himself. Like many hustlers, he was a poor loser and hadn’t taken the loss well. He had hustled up a few of his buddies to take back what he’d lost and Scrooge had led them on a merry joyride through the city that had resulted in the attention and eventual assistance of a clever lizard who had been an undercover police officer, one wrecked bridge (that had absolutely not been his fault) and a tidy little reward for the capture of several wanted criminals. He had left the city in a better mood than he’d arrived. Sadly the joy of dollars well earned most of which he had used to pay for the destroyed bridge ended all too soon. Tossing his hat on the rack, he had been cautious on his arrival home when he’d seen an unfamiliar vehicle in his driveway. He’d opened the greeting room and caught sight of an obviously furious Donald and the imposing figure of Shere Khan sitting at his dinner table looking for all the world as if he belonged there and Donald was the interloper who’s existence he was patiently tolerating. He’d felt dread then. Before this moment, Khan had shown no interest in them outside the long since concluded court case. His appearance now was unlikely to be the source of anything positive, of this he was certain. He’d greeted them both before he had been offered a bottle of chai tea masala he knew Khan must have brought himself because Scrooge knew no one else would have spent the money on such an expensive brand. He’d politely declined, and Donald had yelled at their visitor, ordering him to stop stalling and get to the reason behind his presence. Scrooge had asked his nephew to leave then, finding the anger counterproductive. All it did was set him further on edge. He’d realized his words had implied the wrong thing when Donald looked betrayed and Khan approving, but it had been too late to take things back as Donald had slammed the door after him. He had flinched at the noise. It should not be so hard to let someone you loved know you valued them and their opinions, but it was so easy to say the wrong things to that boy. It was practically a constant of their relationship, but that did not mean he didn’t hope for better. He would apologize to his nephew later. He had been left alone with Khan then, and he found himself missing his nephew even more. Perhaps spurred on by his audience’s obvious discomfort the tiger had informed him he’d heard reports of the doctor’s medical assessment and the price tag attached. So he had seen fit to visit the bank and make a quick withdrawal from his account. He’d taken out an envelope then, and began counting the bills out loud, deep voice steadily speaking the numbers as each note slid slowly from the paper that had contained it into his waiting paws. When the final count was given, it was revealed he had brought well over the amount that had been spent on classes and treatment. The money was then slipped quickly back where it had come, those firm hands as agile as the most experienced card shark, it was like water flow from a well-maintained tap, smooth and fluid and hypnotic to the eye. It was then that he revealed that he had decided to come for the child himself. Only that wasn’t quite as politely as he’d worded it. The man who had chosen to be absent in every important moment of his child’s life had informed Scrooge he would be repaying him for the money spent on looking after the child, he had not addressed him as an equal, no, it had been like the CEO of Walmart speaking to one of the maintenance workers of a particular store over their paycheck. It certainly was not how anyone should address the care of an impressionable child. This was worsened by the fact that he was talking of removing said child from a loving family and transferring them into an environment he doubted would be any warmer than the cold-hearted man who sat before him. Needless to say, it had not been long before Donald’s hostility towards the man had then been completely understood. He hadn’t been feeling particularly charitable towards him either. He had handled the situation well, Scrooge thought. He’d told the tiger his generous assistance would not be required and had ordered Duckworth show his visitor the door. The video recordings of what had happened afterward had provided entertainment for days. Khan’s expression had been decidedly unamused as he was thrown unceremoniously out the door, paper bills scattering like leaves around him. He’d picked up the dollars and placed them back into the envelope, somehow managing to maintain a degree of decorum where a less stouthearted man might have faltered. He’d then turned his back on the house, head held high as he got into his waiting vehicle and slowly inched out of the driveway. When he’d gotten to the gates he’d locked gazes with the camera, pressed two fingers to his temple and saluted, a cruel parody of a smile flickering across his face as he saluted, as clear a sign as any that the ordeal was not over as there was one True to form, this had not been the last he’d seen of the tiger. The businessman had arrived three days later, a paper-thin veneer of false politeness shrouding him like a veil. Something in the way he’d carried himself made him want to deck him on principle.

[prowlpetrex]

P1

Scrooge had to admit, at least to himself that Parenting had not been in his plans. Having a large extended family, well, that had been all right for him, and he was proud to be the uncle to people who were the finest Ducks he’d ever met in his truly unbiased opinion. But fatherhood? Ah, there was the fly in the ointment. He’d never seen himself as anyone’s father figure(whether those he cared for saw themselves as his children could be seen as a topic for debate, but they had never brought the matter to his attention if they did). He was happy to be the kindly uncle whom all the children thought was cool because he just wasn’t like any of the other adults they had met in their admittedly short lives. He was an interminable ball of energy given form by a careless god who’d forgotten to install a reliable off switch, full of secrets he would take with him to the grave if he ever slowed down enough to kick the bucket. Age and family tragedy may have slowed him down just a bit, but he was prone to forget all he had painfully learned the second it got in the way of adventuring, only realizing what he’d long after the moment had passed. He was, after all, a man who did not like to have his fun interrupted and could be cross for ages if he didn’t get what he wanted. Some might call this childish, but he could ignore the opinions of the majority because as long as those behaviors they dismissed as childishness benefited his naysayers and himself he could dismiss their opinions as misinformed. In the back of his mind, he could accept that the root of this line of thinking might lie in some psychological wound he had incurred, likely from trauma incurred from a childhood he’d cut short seeking fortune for himself and his family. Like many problems of its type, he had yet to address it in the relative safety of his therapist’s office. He didn’t know if he would ever try to look beneath the behavior for whatever the issue it signified for him, but the possibility was more likely now than it had ever been. Even visiting a therapist would have been unthinkable months ago. However, unexpected bouts of fatherhood could do that to a person, he supposed. A great deal had needed to be addressed while he waited for the egg to hatch. Not least of all was the relationship between himself and the other parent involved. Shere Khan. He had known the man to be a workaholic by reputation, one who occasionally kept unsavory company, and who had a notably high turnover rate for employees who occupied high positions. He’d met him twice and had even done business with him through proxies, and he'd proven to be a prompt and competent business partner. However, he had not made an effort to get to know the elusive billionaire personally. He usually only bothered with other businesspeople if they made a nuisance of themselves or tried to scam him in some way. Khan, reliable as he had been, hadn’t been on his radar as someone who needed Scrooge’s own special sort of attention. But then an incident with the man’s former employee had changed everything. Khan had given the man a leave of absence, declaring him unfit for the position and ordering that he visit the psychologist at the industry’s Employee Resource Department. While he strongly suspected what had prompted the decision he had not been told the reason officially. The businessman had only shared the information with the police force stationed in Cape Susette. The specifics had then been classified as confidential. What he did know was that not long after that, the scientist had chosen not to visit the Resource Department and had been let go. He had then tried to get hired by Scrooge’s own company. Unfortunately for the man, the vultures who occupied his corporate office had got to the man before he’d been able to meet with him and had refused to add another “pet lunatic to his insane asylum” as they had insensitively stated. The man had been visibly upset at the statement, and Scrooge had tried to apologize for them outstretching his hand to shake the others warmly, planning on hiring the man secretly just to spite them. He should have but hadn’t quite expected the sting of the man’s claws to nick his skin. The man had apologized then wiping at the blood that had soaked his feathers and painfully parting him with a few in his attempts to help. He had explained that he sometimes had difficulty sheathing his claws when he was angry. Scrooge had changed his mind then, thinking the potential applicant might be a tad too temperamental to work with his science division. The man’s anger was valid but whether or not the anger had a credible source would not save him from being murdered by Gyro’s light bulb helper before the week was out if he could not hold his temper should he encounter Scrooge’s lead Scientist before the man had consumed his morning coffee. So he let the man apologize and graciously ignored the pain he’d inflicted by injecting his claws into his hand. He had given the feline the benefit of the doubt and dismissed the action as an accident. He had not noticed the man had kept the feathers or the blood he’d collected from the cut. He would have had no way of knowing that he had already collected blood from Shere Khan when the man had donated blood for a company held drive. If it hadn’t been for an uncharacteristic act of kindness from Glomgold of all people he would not have later learned the scientist had created a small being made from the DNA of himself and Khan. He was using the unborn child to advertise his skills to those who might be interested in hiring him. Ever the man of action, Scrooge hadn’t wasted time. The child may have been created from an experiment he had never signed off on, but if what was said was true then the resulting child was family. Moreover, when it came to the family, a true McDuck could do naught but look after their own, even in cases when they were made uncomfortable by the specifics of the situation if they dwelt too long on it. He hadn’t known what he would do with the child after he had rescued them but he had decided he would worry about that after he had completed the task. The self-appointed rescue mission had taken him longer than he had expected. He’d hoped to sneak in by himself and avoid security altogether, but somehow the children had been alerted to his plans and had decided on their own that he required assistance and in the ensuing argument they had set off the alarms. Everyone had emerged from the situation a little worn around the edges, but they had found whom they had come for. They had arrived home exhausted from fighting with the hired security business he had been proudly carrying the egg, and Bentina Beakley had taken one look at his face and dragged out the old incubator lamp they had used on the triplets before they had been born. The children had been ushered into bed by Donald. They’d set up a room for the child together. Afterward, he’d gone to sleep sitting across the room from something that was made from a part him. The next morning he’d awoken to a list of places Beakley had prepared that he could safely put the child up for adoption and he had been startled to learn how possessive he already was for the child. It was inevitable that they would receive negative attention for their looks. If placed in the wrong home, they wouldn’t even have a family to support them through their troubled times. He had known then that he was going to keep them. That had also been when he’d realized he should inform Khan he had a child. It had been one of the most awkward moments in his life, made even worse by the fact that one of the songs on unwed pregnancy Della had loved to sing and dance to as the radio played was on repeat in his head. He was fairly certain he had flushed in discomfort when those red eyes had turned disbelievingly on him. Facts had caused the tiger to accept reality, but the other male had not wanted anything to do with the ordeal. Scrooge had understood. He hadn’t asked for fatherhood either and unlike him who was happiest when surrounded by those who loved him, their voices acting as a buffer to block out a century’s worth of mistakes of the past that waited, ready to pounce the moment he found himself alone, Khan had always been a loner. Any free time the man allowed himself was devoted towards caring for the garden he had grown in his office. You couldn’t make someone feel a kinship with anyone and forcing the issue if Khan even could be forced into committing himself to an action he held no desire to be actively involved in with any degree of permanence would only result in resentment. As someone who knew very well the sting of a parent’s resentment and was in no hurry to introduce a child to that level of negativity. It had hurt him badly enough as an adult, to expose that pain to a child, especially from a parent as undeniably intimidating as Shere Khan seemed nothing short of unspeakable by his reckoning. He’d written off any involvement from the child’s other parent. Outside of a few scheduled appearances during the trial of the scientist responsible for creating an illegal clone(it was against the law using material taken from sentient animals) created using DNA that had been illegally collected without the consent of either party involved. The Scientist’s lawyer had attempted to get him declared innocent by means of insanity, but it had been ultimately dismissed when the man was found to be fully sane after testing. He had known exactly what he was doing, and he had not cared if it was wrong. He was sentenced accordingly, and though they doubted it would stay a secret forever, both Scrooge and Khan had pushed for a gag order. The truth of the incident would only incite unwanted drama neither had wanted. They had gotten it but knew it would only be a matter of time before the story somehow leaked to the world proper. He had not seen Khan for months after the trial ended. He had missed the hatching of the egg which had been a quiet little event everyone had attended with baited breath. His child had been undoubtedly unique from

[prowlpetrex]

@prowlpetrex asked for a Shere Khan inspired outfit, so I decided to do something along the lines of ceremonial outfit for a king. The staff is a nod to Shere Khan’s lame leg, and the bracelets and necklace are small trophies of kills, and although it’s a ceremonial type outfit, the fabrics are supposed to make it more difficult to be spotted through the trees (like a tiger’s stripes!)

Requests - Outfit Design!

[prowlpetrex]

a couple of Edna Modes from the Incredibles 2 movie

[prowlpetrex]

“Absolutely not.” Shere Khan intoned, voice flat. His face was fixed in that “I cannot believe I’m even bothering to expend the merest fraction of my time on this nonsense” look. It was so well performed, he was willing to bet the average person usually only saw it on TV or in movies. He’d found through his own practices in the mirror that conveying the correct amount of sass, exasperation, and self-important superiority without sliding down one side or another to be surprisingly difficult. He wasn’t too worried, his progress made for great selfies, and the tiger was way older than him with years of experiences beyond the bird’s own. He’d get there eventually. Still… he snapped a quick shot of the cat’s expression for prosperity and his online presence’s sake alone. It wasn’t every day you got to see a master of the art of condescending bitch face at play in its natural environment. He felt the tiger’s gaze hone in on him, a frown forming where a tolerant smile had begun to take form when he’d been speaking with Glomgold. A few seconds trekked by, and he relaxed when nothing was said, and the other man’s focus was once more on Glomgold. Onto twitter you go, he thought happily, clicking the ‘post’ button after attaching the perfectly chosen hashtags to it. He smiled and waited eagerly for the ‘likes’ and ‘retweets’ to come rolling in. “And why not?”  Glomgold practically yowled, raising both his fists and stamping up and down like a toddler having a tantrum. Snap and post. Both of them were creating some great material for his blog. He had become more certain of it when the first shot of Khan had reached over 20 likes in less than five minutes. The people had spoken and they were hungry for more. “You are not the acceptable age for one.” Khan said, face devoid of emotion. “And let yet you let Scroogie in on your little game, no questions asked?” Flintheart said, he crossed his arms, face scrunched up into a childish pout. “You two thought you could start a wee bit of an adventure together and leave ol’ Flinty in the dark, did you?” the old duck marched forward, an angry shade of red visible through his feathers. “You are mistaken, my friend.” Shere Khan said shortly, clasping his hands behind his back. His back was straight and firm. He looked the model of patience and serenity, which was enough to tell Mark he was beginning to become annoyed. He didn’t need to know the tiger personally. He was 110% percent sure nobody in their social sphere would tolerate being talked down like that for very long. “Am I?” Flintheart hissed, pushing himself forward and one of the footrests forward and hopping atop it so that the tip of his beak nearly touched the nose of the feline’s muzzle. To the cat’s credit the only sign that this had affected him, was a slight furrowing of his eyebrows before smoothing out his face once more. Seeing perfect blogging material, Mark subtly captured the scene before him. His followers were really in for a treat today, he thought with a chirping giggle. All those old Scottish games had provided him with great material for those who were into historical gameplay, reenactment, or just wanted to keep tabs on what Scrooge and Glomgold were up to now. Their rivalry was infamous enough that it would keep most of them satisfied. Especially since Flintheart Glomgold was perhaps the sorest loser Mark had ever had the privilege to chronicle. It had been hilarious, but for the elderly duck to then follow that up with an argument with Khan Industry’s reclusive founder and CEO over Scrooge McDuck? It made for the kind of material he could only dream of. “Do ye mark me for a fool?” the outraged growl was loud enough to make even Mark flinch, making it all the more impressive that the tiger’s facial features made no outward response. “In your own words you’ve admitted that you’ve allowed Scrooge in on this little game of yours only to shut the door in my face the moment I asked to play along!” Mark smiled, as Glomgold stamped his feet. It was moments like this that made him feel right at home in the Billionaire’s club. Glomgold was an old man, if he had less money people would have expected him to act his age. Instead he was perfectly content to make a feather-brain out of himself on the suspicion that Scrooge and Khan were purposefully excluding him from some sort of secret game they’d planned on playing together. His behavior made Mark feel mature in a respectable way, instead of a dumb “on the way to becoming obsolete” way. When they had all left, Beaks had done a little Q and A to cool down a bit from the earlier excitement while listening to music from on another tab, and watching the cooking channel as he progressed. Staring at a screen too long tended to make him feel exhausted and he didn’t feel like waking up with phone lines on his face again, so he liked to multi-task. Doing more than one task at once kept him awake and aware. Particularly if it was something he enjoyed. Scrooge had reentered the room after some time, and as was typical of the stuck up old guy, he ignored all of the greetings Mark sent his way. He felt his feathers rise up in annoyance, but took to passive-aggressively slurping his Mango puree instead of doing anything he might regret later. He wasn’t at his company where he could do anything he wanted without suffering much consequence. He was among his peers now and that meant playing nice. Besides, who cared what freaking Scrooge McDuck thought of him? He’d sighed to himself. Adulting was hard. It meant you weren’t allowed to be as Extra™ with peopling as you wanted anymore. You had to bide your time for the inevitable takedown to avoid facing the consequences. So he’d silently watched the McDuck leave, head down as if he’d been in a daze. When Khan had returned next, Mark had thanked him, and offered up some constructive criticism on the drink he’d been made. The Tiger hadn’t made his mango puree the way he’d liked it. No shade. No tea. Just facts. The drink had been smooth and silky instead of thick and pulpy like it should be. He hadn’t ordered some Crème Frappuccino, Jen. However, he could tolerate it, knowing he had gotten someone who had a higher net worth than he did act on a request he’d made-without getting all salty about it, well, that was something that just did not happen to Mark Beaks every day. The cat had raised an eyebrow at him before apologizing profusely, his voice thick with obvious sarcasm that had left Mark feeling just the slightest bit annoyed. But he’d shrugged and rolled with the mild sarcasm. Shere Khan had acknowledged him and that was important. The big cat had apparently returned to retrieve the smoothie he’d made for himself, and, having located the objective, stalked slowly towards the couch where Mark sat. He’d stood behind him, drinking the frozen beverage, and suddenly feeling uncomfortably hyperaware of the predator behind him, Mark had felt himself being assessed. For what he did not know, but whatever it was thankfully brief. As if unaware of his discomfort, Shere Khan had simply tossed the cup gracefully into the trash, and bid him a polite farewell when Glomgold had barged into the room with a loud bang. The elderly duck had clearly been in a rush. He was out of breath, gasping loudly and growling out angry Scottish curses. “I have done no such thing,” Shere Khan said, quietly moving away from his conversation partner, apparently on the lookout for another disposable cup. “Really?” Glomgold laughed as he followed the other man, an ugly mocking noise filled with derision. “What was it you were saying just minutes before then, an elaborate lie to make me jealous?” The Scot had first sounded incredulous, but, as he spoke the words had begun to sound increasingly doubtful but its finish. He’d moved closer to Khan, and if Wiktionary had face claims his would be filed under “suspicion”. It was as if the idea, now that the idea had been expressed, the likelihood of the content having been a lie had exponentially increased. “No.” The cat had located the disposable cups that had been placed inside one of the lower cupboards. “Please do not accuse me of falsehood where miscommunication could easily be the culprit.” Exasperation had begun to leak into the feline’s tone, making his words flatter than they would have been otherwise. in a move Mark would never personally have had the temerity to make, the Scotsman took advantage of the tiger’s decision to lean over to grab one of the cups to seize hold of the other businessman’s tie and yanked it hard enough that their faces were now touching. It was also apparently one move too far for the carnivore’s patience because he had stood suddenly and with the swipe of one furry claw pried the feathered hand from his neck clothing with brutal efficiency. Mark checked his phone and sighed in disappointment. He’d expected Shere Khan to do something. There was only so much the typical person would tolerate m\before they either fled or went on the defensive. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been quick enough to catch the scene in action and had captured only blurry outlines from the two of them. Dang it. He deleted the worthless photos from his phone with a little more force than necessary, and waited for the next moment to strike. “Ah, I see.”  Glomgold drew out the final word. “A miscommunication error on your part was it?” The old duck had crossed his arm in a pout. It gave the impression that he was unaffected by the tiger’s growing agitation. “So it would seem.” Shere Khan allowed, making an attempt at civility. “Then what are the two of you getting up to together?” Glomgold made it sound like he half expected the two Billionaires were carrying on with an illicit love affair behind everyone’s backs, and it was perhaps this tone that made Shere Khan sigh in annoyance. “If everything goes as PLANNED, HE WILL AGREE to provide me with the location for an upcoming reality show I intend to produce.” He said slowly, pinching the bridge of his muzzle. There was a clatter and Mark felt the combined gazes of both men focus solely on him. Mark Beaks gave a start then retrieved the phoned he’d accidentally dropped with an embarrassed chuckle. McDuck and Khan would be hosting a Reality TV show together? He felt himself practically salivating at the interest this news would surely generate. Earlier that day, Khan had seemed on edge about people knowing he was into cooking shows. Maybe what had really been bothering him was that he hadn’t wanted any similar ideas between his show and anything currently existing to be seen as an act of plagiarism or a willful violation of trademarked concepts. He didn’t really know anything about the laws governing reality TV shows to be honest. He just liked watching them and, as he did with most of the fine print corporate paperwork, left the majority of the heavy lifting to his legal team. But that hardly mattered when he’d just gotten front row seating on some juicy gossip way before the newsies could sink their own talons into it. This kind of coverage on the lives of the rich and powerful more than made up for the hefty membership fees new members like him had to pay to get their own piece of the action. He fired off a couple of posts in rapid succession and grinned triumphantly as activity skyrocketed on his feed. With any luck, his posts would go viral and his account would get a mention on TV. He answered a few of the more frequently asked questions, then paused. The foreboding feeling that he was being watched washed over him and when he looked up he found himself once more staring into the predatory yellow eyes of Shere Khan. Feeling nervous self-consciousness well up inside of him, he gave the tiger a friendly little wave. The other man seemed to smile before turning his gaze back onto Glomgold, who, after a moment of useless flailing, had rallied magnificently from his initial surprise. “Why not me own property?” The duck said pointing a finger at the significantly larger mammal. “I’ll have you know---” “---Because these contests will be a competition geared toward locating a child of exemplary business acumen.” Shere Khan interrupted, the words logical and cold, but the fact that he was losing the will to remain polite, spoke of his decreasing patience. “Mr. Scrooge owns an actual living thriving city, populated by potential customers.” Glomgold made an indignant grunt, as if to interrupt but Khan wasn’t finished talking yet and spoke over him. “This is something neither you nor I possess, which is why he was sought out, and I refuse to settle for anything less.” Glomgold slumped, defeat splashing across his face. Mark grinned and took another snap of the almost defeated expression on the old Duck’s face. “There must be something I can do.” Flintheart said, he looked like he was wanted to argue, but had no clue what to say next. Shere Khan only shrugged in response. “I am open to suggestions.” He turned to leave. “If you think of something, I SHALL CONSIDER IT.” The words were short this time as he once more turned to leave, clearly intending to make a hasty retreat before Glomgold came up with anything else to pester him with. Before he’d left, Mark seized upon his own opportunity. “Have you decided on the Judges?” the tiger paused then raised a sleek eyebrow at him. “Pardon?” the word was said politely, no emotion crossing his face. “You know, the duderinos who decide whether these kids suck or not?” He asked with a careless expansive sweep of his hands. “I will be looking into potential candidates at a later time.” The tiger said softly. “Auditions will have to be made, and---″ “I volunteer.” Mark Beaks said immediately. Khan shook his head, but the parrot was not letting him off the hook that easily. “C’mon, Shere Khan, my buddy, my guy, my amigo,” he said beseechingly. “You’re going to want these judges to actually be successful businessmen and women, not some small town reject wearing rose-colored glasses and an over-idealistic idea of how the world works on their sleeves.” Shere Khan paused, evaluating, then--- “My answer remains the same.” the words were almost regretful. Glomgold smirked at him. “Sorry new guy,” he laughed. “You’ve got to wait for those feathers of yours to dry before you depend on business reputation alone.”  Glomgold faced Shere Khan with a grin. “I would like to offer up my considerable experience to this project of yours.” He had placed one palm upon his chest giving off the impression that he was a high profile politician swearing into public office. “I’ll have to decline that gracious offer as well.” The tiger said brusquely, and Mark burst out laughing as Glomgold visibly deflated. “What?!” The laughter from the duo’s audience had clearly rankled, offence born of an injured ego. “No one says no to Flintheart Glomgold!” Mark wiped mirthful tears out of his eyes and grinned at the Scottish Duck. “Really, man?” he laughed brightly. “I’d have thought all those years spent as Scrooge’s quote end quote ‘Arch-nemesis’ would have taught you a thing or two about rejection.” Glomgold glowered in his direction but Mark didn’t care. He didn't like it when people were condescending towards him, and he refused to tolerate it from anyone without saying anything in return. “Be that as it may” Khan directed the conversation back onto its previous conversation, perhaps worried the two would cause a scene if they didn’t. “If what you say is true, then I apologize that necessity must force me to be the first.” He looked so genuine Mark almost believed him. “But after the events I witness earlier I really must refuse.” Glomgold looked like something distasteful had found itself lodged in his mouth. The older man clearly believed what was being said was true, which made Mark wonder what had happened that would give a normal person logical reason to decline such an advantageous offer but he could tell it was just an excuse. Mark knew an actor when he saw one and it was clear Khan was after something from Flintheart he felt he would not get by being direct with sharing his desired outcome. The tiger looked ever so regretful before stretching out till his back cracked satisfactorily and once more heading to the door. The limp in his gate was more pronounced than ever as he head out the doorway that would eventually lead to the entrance hall “What if,” Glomgold began, words choked and desperate. “What if I paid you to let me be the Judge?” There wasn’t any visible change in the tiger’s expression but Beaks could feel the other man’s attention zero in on the heavyset duck. “I’d want to know what you intended to contribute.” he said slowly. Glomgold frowned, “I don’t know what's needed for this project of yours.” He confessed. “I don’t even know where to begin.” Shere Khan smiled, pulling out his cell. “That, dear fellow, is what legal teams are for.” Glomgold nodded in agreement and pulled out his own. Shere Khan had requested the assistance of an employee to set up webcams and before long the two were sitting on the stools near the bar, busy ironing out arrangements. Their distraction left him with his own thoughts. Mark wanted to be a judge but it was clear to him Shere Khan didn’t want to pay the exorbitant wages reality TV shows usually afforded their judges. Like many wealthy people Mark had known throughout the years, the man was quite stingy with his own wealth. This contest was probably just a publicity stunt meant to last one season then cancelled after it had drawn more public attention back onto Khan and his company, and honestly speaking here, Mark wasn’t all that comfortable with the whole pay to play concept. Actually paying someone to become a job when most shows would have paid him randomly didn’t sit well with him. Glomgold obviously found it an easy choice because of his long history of defeat at scrooge’s hand and this was a way to one-up the old timer. But for Mark, the choice was not so easy. He didn’t have the same relationship Flintheart shared with McDuck. What he did know made him dislike the guy, and, sure, he considered himself an “antagonist” to the old man because his behavior towards Mark had made him feel things about himself that he’d found...unpleasant when he’d wanted to impress the richest duck in the world and had been summarily dismissed as unimportant. That title was one of many measuring sticks he used to assess his own self-worth. This one for his own personal wealth, which, sadly, wasn’t in the same margin as old man McDuck, but he was willing to bet much of that was due to age. Mark Beaks was still a young man and there was plenty of time to catch up with the man if he was patient. Trouble was he didn’t want to be patient. Another, even more important method of judging his amour-propre was his follower count… which had dropped since the two failures, first the BUDDY system robot and then his brief but highly destructive stent as Gizmoduck, he was ashamed to admit were now attached to his name. Judges on popular TV shows got a crazy amount of followers, so joining this game of theirs could potentially help him regain what he’d lost. His followers were the lifeblood of his company. They were a very big part of the reason waddle had done so well in the first place. But as he watched Glomgold and khan finally reach an agreement with the promise that the duck would for the catering in addition to the promised cash donation, he shook his head with a frown. It was obvious why Flintheart was the second richest duck in the world despite the fact that Scrooge wasted money on stupid superstitious stuff like supernatural defense if his sources. Glomgold, whether it was spending obscene amounts of money attempting to one-up scrooge or building death traps that ultimately failed was just a lot looser with his money than Scrooge was. These were issues born of a raging inferiority complex, and one that would likely doom himself to an eternal position of second place. On the plus side, his flaws made the duck more entertaining to be around. He was that short angry guy nearly every successful squad seemed to have on the TV shows of his youth who was getting himself and his friends into some stupid mess nearly every other episode because he literally couldn’t control himself for more than ten minutes. Sure, he’d yet to reach “friend” status with Flintheart, but it was all part of the plan he’d first conceived on the night of Scrooge’s birthday. It was another waiting game which required him to have patience if he wanted to see it come to a successful fruition, but the idea of developing a tie between himself, Glomgold, and Ms. Beagle was a good one. He was confident that, if he could get Mr. Graves to start returning his phone calls they’d be the perfect quartet. But that would require him to spend more time around Glomgold first. So far the older man seemed content to ignore him in favor of Scrooge McDuck. It had been irritating to be ignored constantly but Mark Beaks was a master at rolling with life’s disappointments and he’d be banned from the internet before he let the old duck’s brush-offs get to him. But, the dawning realization hit him as he watched Shere Khan summon one of the many moles who were employed by the Billionaires club to fetch him the head representative of his legal team, who was currently waiting at the front gate to be permitted access to the exclusive club. If he were to become a judge, not only would his follower count skyrocket, it might give him the opportunity to get Glomgold alone, possibly developing, if not a friendship, then a camaraderie between the known enemies of Scrooge McDuck at least. But it was also important to read the obvious clues Khan was leaving that more or less stated in no uncertain clues that he expected to be given a pricey little nest egg in exchange for their participation and finely made one at that. Going by what he was witnessing with Glomgold, it seemed as if he was not satisfied with accepting monetary bribes alone, which left Mark in a bit of a pickle. What, beyond money, did he have that he could easily part from without much sacrifice on his part…that Shere Khan might actually want? He thought it through as he watched a smartly dressed…canine… of unknown species introduce himself as Tabaqui as he took out several sheets of paper that had very likely been printed on site. The neat rows of printed words were visible but not legible from his position across the room. Taking stock of the new occupant, Mark vaguely thought that there were times when he found it frustrating that it was considered offensive to ask what species someone was. This was one of those scenarios. For the life of him, he couldn’t tell what species the guy was supposed to be, it could be anything, really, from dog to jackal to dingo or even a hyena with really muted coloring(in which case he wasn’t a canine at all since the hyena breeds were a family class all there own), but he was letting himself get carried away. It really didn’t matter what species the guy was so long as he didn’t turn on Mark randomly and ask him what he was. Yup, it didn’t matter at all. He was totally going to Google it later just so he could have that question answered though. Even though it meant nothing. Glomgold, in a rare display of maturity, had actually picked up the sheets of paper and was reading through them in their entirety as he asked questions and had the language edited as he saw fit. They were at it long enough for another waiter to ask if anyone would like something to drink. Khan wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to the man but the lawyer was the only one to take the employee up on it and before long he was unlocking the wine cabinet and pouring something dark and purple into a glass. The canine(?) thanked him and the guy had returned to the counter to lock the cabinet again. He left the room shortly after, the note the tiger had given him still in hand, but it was enough to have the figurative ball start rolling in his head. B.U.D.D.Y. When he’d seen the notes and blueprints for the machine online, the user had mentioned the robot was useful in locating keys. His first batch of the models had proven to be a failure as the robot had shown itself to a temper that exceeded their actual size, but perhaps that could actually make them useful in this little contest Khan was throwing down. One of the most important skills an up and coming business owner needed was customer service skills. It paid to be seen as charismatic. The B.U.D.D.Y. robots would required delicate handling if the contestant was to avoid setting off the robot’s rebellious ‘KILL’ mode. Anticipating a high consumer demand, he’d had ten robots made. Following the trial run, they’d been scheduled to be decommissioned and scrapped for parts he’d use on any one of his other projects. However, if his robots got Khan’s attention, well, maybe they wouldn’t be considered quite the failure after all. Following the contest he could even have them sold as souvenirs from the show. Provided the customer signed a lengthy contract stating he and his company were in no way responsible for any damages that might occur following the sale. Mind decided, he approached the table where the three men were reaching the finalization of whatever it was they’d agreed upon Khan’s man noticed his presence. “Your witness, I presume?” The canine(?) asked with a rakish grin. Glomgold grunted a short unimpressed “He’ll do.” and before he knew it papers were being foisted on him by the lawyer as he translated the agreements between Khan and Glomgold from legalese into plain English, and a pen was being pressed squarely into his palm by the old duck, demanding that he sign the firms stating he had seen the deal between the two take place, that they’d both been of sound mind, and neither had threatened or otherwise coerced the other man into action. It had. It had been altogether too much. “Now, now.” Khan laughed amiably, watching the spectacle in amusement from his corner of the table. “I do believe you’ve frightened the poor chap.” Mark Beaks would have liked to have refuted it, and some part of his mind did object to what the tiger had said because it really wasn’t fear that he felt now. His mind was dissociating which was an entirely different than fear, but his mind had gone temporarily numb and he had frozen in place. But the tiger’s words did have the desirable effect of getting both men to stop talking, and more importantly cease touching him. So he could not bring it in him to despise the feline too much for his words. “As you both are aware,” Khan continued, a passive smile crossing his face. “A witness is not required in a contract such as this, however,” the last word was spoken over whatever Glomgold had tried to say. “I took the liberty of requesting the presence of notary.” Khan said shortly. “Ask the manager of this establishment to give the surveillance footage of this arrangement, and pass it to him, so that he might do his job properly.” Khan stood and Mark Beaks was suddenly made very aware of how very tall the predator was. “And Glomgold,” he said, smile as sharp as his teeth. “Do remember to pay the men.” The mallard left the room muttering darkly under his breath, and Mark was left staring after the two other men who were preparing to head after Flintheart as he wracked his brain for a way to say he still wanted in. Normally, he wouldn’t have had a problem volunteering himself for anything that was of interest to him. He’d just done it not too long ago. But he truly hated rejection, especially by people who were higher up on the corporate totem pole than himself. Nowadays that wasn’t as many people as it once was, but…Khan was among that rare clique of people he wanted to impress, and the tiger hadn’t even seemed to think his usefulness was even worth debating. That had been a royal burn to his ego, man. But the decision to say nothing wasn’t one he wanted to make either. If you wanted to be successful in life, you had to seize the opportunity wherever you might find it. Even if you failed it was better to have failed than to have done the task with anything less than a full set of tail feathers. So, when both men had gathered the papers and seemed set to leave. He stood up with them, and summoning all the confidence he could muster told them he still wanted to participate as well. Two sets of eyes locked on his as he explained what he thought he could bring to the table. He might have understated just how dangerous the B.U.D.D.Y.s could be, but otherwise he had stuck to the truth as he internally called out to a higher power than he that they realized how good he was, and how much they needed him to be on their little panel of judges.  The discussion went on longer than he’d like. It was always important to keep up a positive public image and the direction their conversation was going made it difficult for him. The fact that the robots were rather dangerous and uncontrollable when provoked did seem to be a sticking point for Shere Khan, “But,” Mark Beaks reasoned, “We can make both the parents and children themselves sign a release of liability form.” He shrugged carelessly. “It’s not like they’re going to be unaware of the danger and if they sign anyway they can’t sue.” But still Khan hesitated before he admitted for the children’s emotional well-being in addition to how it would affect the little one’s friends and family. The words themselves were practically an antithesis to everything he had thought about Khan and he might have been shocked by the admission if it hadn’t been spoken in a voice, dry as a desert, and so lacking in any sort of concern whatsoever, that he wasn’t actually concerned for the children for their own safety. No, he might as well have admitted that the only thing that mattered to him was how potential customers would feel and respond if a child was injured during a competition hosted by Khan Industries. Realizing that he was quickly losing his audience, and that he’d been correct when he’d theorized money, or at least not money alone would not be enough to get him in a seat on the panel of judges he’d gotten desperate, and kinda, maybe, sorta, well…. promised Gizmoduck would be there to halt and protect any Child from a rampaging B.U.D.D.Y. if the situation called for it. There’d been a frosty silence between the two of them after that announcement. Mark had desperately wanted to take back his words. Gizmoduck no longer obeyed and his commands so he was in no position to promise anything, and Shere Khan, well… ceiling cat alone knew what he was thinking, but Mark had heard some stories on the grapevine that Khan had an issue or two about people that had lied to and broken promises with the man in the past. The older businessman had request-no, that didn’t quite describe the way the words were said, commanded seemed a better fit, he produce said he’d need to produce said hero before they discussed the conversation any further, let alone have a contract drawn up for him to sign. He had been left spluttering after him as the Tiger and his lawyer left together, the former giving the later a respectful distance, head bowed submissively for the first time that evening, and leaving no room for doubt who called the shots in that relationship. After his business with the notary was finalized, Glomgold had returned to wait behind the door to see how the situation between Khan and Beaks resolved, and had been witness to the whole sordid affair. When Mark caught the elderly avian staring at him from behind the door, he’d tilted his head to the side, wondering why the other man was lurking in the shadows. It hadn’t been until Glomgold had pointed a figure at him and laughed like a loon that he realized the other was laughing at his miserable failure like it was a joke. Maybe it was, in a way. He’d tried to bribe someone using killer robots and had been surprised when it failed. He kept his shoulders squared and head held high, doing his best not to show anyone that Glomgold had gotten to him. The task was more difficult to do than he’d thought. The mallard had clearly returned to make fun of his misery and rub his beak in the fact that he’d gotten the contract and Beaks hadn’t. He wanted to get under Mark’s skin and he’d been more successful than he would ever realize the parrot thought took one final look at the other man mocking him, than taking out his camera and snapping a photo for his blog. It wasn’t everyday someone of their economic status willingly took time out of their schedules to check in on him, and, even if Glomgold had only been their to see him fall on his face, it was hard not to let the fact that the old man had viewed him to be worthy of so much of his time get to him. He’d felt cheerful enough that he almost forgot to be upset about Khan. If Mark had been half-hearted about the venture before, he’d definitely committed himself to the mission now. His anger wasn’t quite the result of having been rejected, although those feelings changed and stung at his pride. No, it was the way hed been rejected as if he, his resources, and his money had meant nothing to the old tiger. The man’s attitude had been what had stuck up inside his craw like nothing else. He hadn’t longed to be invited to join the Billionaire’s club only to be treated like a nobody once he’d finally been inducted. And honestly? He refused to put up with that attitude from anybody let alone some uppity feline with delusions of grandeur. He wanted to prove he could get the man on board, and this is why he’d broken the window latch on the second story of the Fenton household. He preferred to go about things legally but if the door was barred to him he had other ways of getting what he wanted. Fortunately he hadn’t needed to enter the room without permission as M'ma Cabrera was surprisingly welcoming once he expressed an interest in hiring her son to work with children in need. It hadn’t even been much of a lie. The children didn’t know it yet but they were in need of being terrorized by killer robots who would teach them proper customer relations. The self-styled ‘hero’ was currently working on something for Mr McDuck she’d said but he’d soon return home. In the meantime shed told him he was welcome to wait in the guest room which was across the hall from her sons room if he didn’t want to stay and watch soaps with her. He’d thanked her and made his way up, entering Fenton Crachshell’s bedroom to fix the lock he’d broken. He gave the place a curious once-over, finding nothing particularly out of place. Outside of a small shrine devoted to bandages and first aid supplies, it was a normal bedroom one would expect to see from a man of average financial means who still lived with his mother. Mark didn’t know if he should be disappointed or not. He shrugged and got to work, broken windows weren’t in the habit of repairing themselves. He frowned at it for moment looking at the information he had pulled up on the waddle phone and after making a quick call to his office, got to work. It wasn’t a difficult task, just not one he did often. He had just finished fixing the mechanism when he heard the front door open and a familiar male voice tiredly greet his mother. The volume on the television was lowered and the couch made a loud creaking noise as she presumably stood up to greeted her son in turn before the two began speaking in Spanish. Mark took that as a sign to beat a hasty exit and propelled himself into the guest bedroom as fast as his legs would allow. That proved to be a wise decision as he heard footsteps bounding loudly up the step and a wild-eyed Fenton appeared in the doorway looking harassed. Mark grinned and lifted his arm in a friendly wave. For his part the parrot looked as if he had been patiently waiting where Ms Cabrera had directed him, one leg folded over the other, the portrait of a relaxed guest that had every right to be where he was. Mark’s apparent ease within the environment seemed to have the opposite effect on Fenton, so he continued to smile amiably at him. It was fun when people were easy to provoke. Fenton was less than thrilled to see him. “You” the word was drawn out and filled with enough venom to kill a fully grown elephant. “Me.” he agreed pleasantly, waving off the former intern’s irritation like a tiresome fly. “Why did you come here?” Fenton growled darkly. Well somebody hatched the wrong nest of eggs this morning he thought, watching in bemusement as Fenton threw his arms up, looking for all the world like he wanted to rumble. Mark almost laughed, Perhaps when he wore the suit it looked a little more frightening, but at this moment he looked like a scrawny little nerd with fantastic cranial plumage. His face was the kind that looked friendly even when angry, he wondered if anyone had mentioned it to him but he doubted it. Otherwise, his face wouldn’t look so intent. Mark wondered if the reaction would be worth it if he was the one to break his heart by telling him. Probably not. “I don’t know what your game is but you’re not welcome in my home.” jeez the guy really was buying into his own hype. He really did sound like one of those Saturday morning cartoon heroes from the 80s. Mark was glad the duck wasn’t wearing the suit or it would have been more difficult to focus on what he actually wanted. “Game,” he repeated dropping his voice to a near purr, as he approached Fenton steadily catching his gaze. “I’m not the one who’s playing any games.” The answer was, of course true. At the moment anyway. If something like this had occurred during his childhood he’d have jumped at the opportunity with all that he was, but it hadn’t, and now he was jumping at the chance to have something lesser but still significant. His only response was a long-suffering sigh. “Hey, think all you want but out of the two of us, its Mr McDuck who comes the closest to gameplay right now, sport."Mark’s tone was light as he watched Fenton react to his words."What do you mean by that?” As if he were a small child, instinctually hesitant out of fear of adult reprimand. “Wait,"Mark said slowly , widening his eyes for dramatic effect. "Could it be that you don't know?” The last was spoken in a theatric stage whisper. Fenton looked puzzled. “M'ma said whatever this is had something to do with children?” Fenton said slowly, beginning to look frustrated. “Yes,” Mark agreed, then went for the kill. “Scrooge McDuck and Shere Khan are starting a contest and they'll be using my B.U.D.D.Y. robots to help teach them proper customer service skills.” “What!” The look of shock on his face was priceless. He had to resist the urge to take out his phone and take a selfie with him and Fenton’s face, but at the moment he was cleverly disguised as a concerned and compassionate adult. Somehow he didn’t think that would go with his act. “So you really didn’t know I–” they both startled in alarm when they heard knocking on the front door, and for one wild moment he worries that it was Scrooge, or Gyro, or even Khan on the other side of that door. Both men sat quietly as someone spoke to M'ma Cabrera and then left. The silence between them was heavy as her steps leisurely ambled up the stairs before the woman knocked on the door and her son got up to meet her in the doorway. The two had another brief conversation in Spanish, some of which Mark understood from linguistic osmosis to be thanking her for the papers she had passed to him, but the majority of what was said had been lost on him. The duck returned to his seat and passed the papers to him, which he immediately recognized as the legal documents he’d sent for prior to fixing Fenton’s window latch. “I believe this belongs to you.” Fenton’s voice was several shades colder than it had been and Mark was now holding the obvious culprit. Clearly the paperwork had reminded the duck of the train wreck that had been last time he was employed by Mark Beaks and the parrot cursed the lawyer internally for his less than optimal arrival. “It does.” He admitted slowly, as there was little else he could say. “Why, and no lies now or I’m kicking you out.” The duck said, pointing a finger threateningly in his face. “Did you really come here?” Mark thought for a moment, then changed tactics. He’d gotten this far, he was certain he could get the other bird on his side with a bit of prodding. “Lets call a truce.” He said offering his hand and rolling his eyes when the duck eyed it as if it were covered in some particularly disgusting infectious disease. “Truth is, i need your help, amigo.” The fact pained him but that wouldn’t stop it from being true, no matter what he may have thought. Fenton frowned “Why haven’t you gone to Doctor Gearloose instead?” Mark laughed. “You’ve worked for the man, I’m sure you know how well that would’ve worked out.” His voice adopted a drawl that was a very good take on Gyro’s, if he said so himself. “Oh, the disgrace to proper scientist’s everywhere needs my help.” He pretended to straighten Gearloose’s imaginary glasses. “Words fail to describe my amazement.” He settled once more on his normal voice. “And that's if he didn’t decide to have me thrown into a recycling unit and used as fertilizer for the landscapers.” Fenton laughed . “The Doctor wouldn’t do that,” he defended, but in a more teasing voice “Right now Mr Gearloose is being watched too closely by the board of directors, and I really can’t see them letting him get away with coldblooded murder.” Mark tugged absentmindedly on the nape of his neck. “You’re probably right.” He said in amusement. “Murder tends to be bad for long-term public policy.” Fenton fidgeted at that. “So you’ve never considered–” “–No.” Mark said, interrupting the sentence before it had been fully asked. He’d like their brief camaraderie before it had slipped away. He regretted its absence. “Doctor Gearloose would probably have more respect for you if you didn’t steal so many inventions from other people.” Fenton shrugged. “If you, y'know, acted like a ‘proper scientist’.” Mark was partially tempted to laugh in the other man’s face. Science as they knew it today had been built on people borrowing, stealing, and taking credit for the work of others, often doing utterly deplorable things to the original creators in the process. Mark had never done anything that would be especially awful to a rival, so as far as he was concerned he was actually one of the nicer guys out there. But he had a feeling that if he were to actually admit that he and 'the hero’ would be debating morality forever, so he chose to ignore the statement. “That's one way of looking at it.” He said instead. Fenton raised his eyebrows. 'Oh, and what do you think would get him to change his opinion on you?“ There was just a hint of challenge in his voice and Mark smiled in response. "I have money, Doctor.” He coaxed, pulling out his briefcase to reveal said currency, flaunting it before the other bird as he traced the edges in an almost seductive manner. “And I’m willing to finance a few of your pet projects if you help me settle a simple problem of my own.” He shrugged amicably, closing the briefcase. “You know the man better than me but I’m betting his view towards me would be improved, even if its only by a little.” Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera was left absolutely speechless. Mark chuckled softly at the hungry desperate look that had entered his eyes and twisted his mouth before he checked himself, and pretended that little slip hadn’t happened. But he couldn’t prevent his eyes from darting back to the briefcase like a pet denied its favorite snack. “Why did you bring that here.” Fenton frowned, clearly suspicious. “I need to borrow Gizmodu–” “–No.” Fenton didn’t even bat an eyelid before responding. “You didn’t even let me finish!” Mark protested, the former intern could not be allowed to prevent him access to his super robot self. “I am not here for you to use however you see fit!” The parrot blew air through his beak in frustration, he’d really made things needlessly complicated for himself when he tried to take on the mantle of Gizmoduck, hadn’t he? “Look, this isn't about me trying to take on your mantle again, okay?” Mark said, trying to sound reasonable and hoping like hell he was successful. “In fact, if you get a call requesting your help you can leave at any time, as long as you return when it’s over.” He sighed. “I just want to prevent a few dumb kids from breaking a few bones on live television.” Fenton paused then stared at him. “Run that by me again?” Mark hid a smile confidence returning. “Oh, just a reality show Scrooge and I are involved in.” He said before giving a brief description of what they were planning, fudging only a few specific details a centimeter or two. It was only with this duck’s help that he’d be part of the game. “And I’m going to be a judge!” He finished brightly, watching as Crackshell-Cabrera slowly absorbed the information he’d just divulged. “I… I wouldn’t have thought Mr. McDuck would be interested in starting such a thing.” Fenton admitted, looking more than a little lost. “Me neither!” Mark confessed. Neither Khan nor McDuck seemed like the type of man who would think of doing something like this, let alone act on it. But truthfully he didn’t know either of them well enough to make an accurate judgement call, and when he got down to the wire, he honestly didn't care as long as he somehow got in on it. “But getting back to the topic at hand, Scrooge might not be willing to call in the big guns for something like this, but I’m not him.” Mark grinned all relaxed smiles and casual grace. “I’m thinking of hiring you as Robot manager.” This got Fenton’s attention.“Would you need to make modifications on my armor?” Mark had to cover his mouth to prevent a string of giggles from escaping it. The memory of event, the lack of control, the pain, the humiliation, the fear…it was, well, frankly too soon to try it again. Maybe later he’d warm up to the idea again, but right now he had no desire to chance it and found it hilarious that someone would think he would. “No.” He said after finally settling down. “We both know you don’t trust me as far as you could throw me, and I"d rather avoid the looks, and well, everything else Gyro’s going to throw at me if i altered one of his precious specimens on live tv before a live audience.” Fenton snorted inelegantly and Mar smiled, each knowing the parrot would certainly need to watch his back if he ever tried it. Fenton cocked his head to the side, a small smile reaching his beak. “And i still get decently paid?” “Of course.” Mark assured him, as if even considering to do anything but that would be a crime befitting the worst of punishments.“Good.” He said and had begun reading the contract he had been given to sign. Unlike Glomgold he made no changes, edits or additions, but on some parts he would pause an ask for an explanation when he didn’t understand, listening intently while Mark patiently did his best to answer. This went on for about an hour and they were interrupted only once by M'ma when she insisted they eat something, declaring it was bad to do business on an empty stomach. Mark hadn’t complained. The food had been quite good. About thirty minutes later and Fenton, looking nervous but determined, said he could agree to the terms. Part of the arrangement included shifting Fenton into Gizmoduck and signing the contract while Mark recorded everything using his cell “Neato!” Mark exclaimed once it was all finish. “All that's left is to turn this into a lawyer and get you all nice and paid.” Fenton paused and gave the briefcase a significant stare. Reading the duck’s expression he laughed. “Nope, sorry to say it, but ” Mark said shaking his head. “That's all fake, my man.” Fenton stared at the parrot like he’d grown a second head.“Why do you have a briefcase full of fake money.” “Mugger bait.” Mark said with a shrug. “They think they’re stealing a small fortune, but I’ve got a tracker in this baby, so what they’ve really won a quick trip to the slammer.” He preened for a moment, expecting praise, but drooped slightly when none was forthcoming. “I mean, why would someone have a briefcase with actual money in it? Fenton shrugged looking terribly foolish all of a sudden. "I don’t know, i guess I’ve just seen enough movies that it didn’t seem so strange.” Mark laughed. “I’ve been there, buddy.” He gave the contract a once over, then stood up stretching for a moment before retrieving his briefcase. “If this all checks through, I’m going to be wiring the money into your account later tonight.” Fenton nodded for a moment before looking him straight in the eyes. “I like to think people are mostly good, and I want to believe the only reason you’re doing this is to help the children, so…” Fenton stopped, seemingly unable to provide the words for how he felt. “So, just don’t betray that trust, okay?” Mark smiled and gave him an easygoing salute. “You have my word.” He said, before finally taking his leave of the house. He would send a copy to Tabaqui’s office and he would finally get to arguing terms of his own contract  with Khan. If all went well he would be a judge. He could hardly wait.

[prowlpetrex]

Flintheart Glomgold rounded yet another corridor, his impressive girth seemed to have no effect on his momentum, as he moved with the speed and agility of a duck much younger than his age. “Come on Scroogey,” he goaded his adversary in his mind. “Come and get me.” the entire afternoon had led to this moment. He hadn’t intended to lose in their game of Bonnety, but the short-term winner didn’t matter, he reminded himself. not in the long run anyway, he had to repeat this to his injured pride multiple times. As the los- duck who was temporarily not the winner it gave him more control over the situation than the duck who had won the least important part of the step in their game. as the soon to be winner of their fatal feud, he could lead McDuck on a merry old chase through the halls of the Billionaire’s club until they reached the exact location where he had laid his deadly trap. McDuck in his smug self-assured arrogance would have no clue his pride would lead him to his ultimate undoing. The surprise he had in store for his enemy wouldn’t leave room for a long realization, Glomgold didn’t want to give him enough time to think of a way to escape afterall, but McDuck was an expressive man. He had no doubt the security cameras he would need to steal would provide him with that brief hopeless look of despair as he realized he’d finally been bested by his constantly underestimated archnemisis. if the euphoria victory brought was a flavor instead of a bunch of chemical reactions in the brain and body he didn’t quite understand, he would swear he could already taste it. if he was quick enough, maybe he could even make off with the old buzzard’s body. it would be incredibly messy, but doable he hoped. if everything went according to plan, he would decapitate McDuck. it wasn’t something he’d managed to do to anyone before but he’d read an intro or two on the theory, and both The Complete Idiot's Guide to Murder and Killing for Dummies so he was prepared for what was to come.  He was aware that the heart of a normal man would keep beating for a minute or two, and that all that blood would flow up to the newly created hole where the head had been, and gush upward like a carbonated beverage from a shaken soda can for almost a minute after the head had been removed. That had sounded, eh, revolting if he was honest with himself. one of those repellant tasks most criminal masterminds would leave for their minions to take care of. He knew there were sites where you could look up live decapitation so he wouldn't be surprised when the moment finally came, but he was a busy man. he kept finding real and legitimate reasons to avoid looking them up. Besides there was no reason the cleanup and theft of the security cameras could not be handled by his own, more trusted employees, since that was what he was paying them to do. If they were quick he would have a trophy out of this for all his trouble. the deed would leave a lot to tidy out. Scrooge would not be in his fittest form either, but Glomgold had a good taxidermist on call who would have his opponent stuffed right and proper. He’d never had the opportunity to use her services for obvious reasons like the continued survival of his only true archenemy robbing him of reasons to seek out her expertise, but he’d seen her work on both sentient and feral animals before. She’d had a way with body preservation that was so lifelike it had been a marvel to behold. He’d made sure to get her number so when he’d have need of her. he’d know where to call. Old Scrooge McDuck would make a handsome addition to his trophy collection and that was the most important fact to be gained from the situation. Maybe, once everything got settled, he could even make one of those tacky ’Wish you were here’ postcards with the old tightwad placed artistically on display among a beautifully crafted banquet that would, for once, be free of the obnoxious food hoarder’s sticky fingers. It was a good idea, he thought, especially if it lured that traitorous vixen in white feathers Goldie O’Gilt in to investigate Scrooge’s disappearance herself. If he was successful, he’d have two ducks in his collection instead of one. Then he would never again be forced to feel like a third wheel around the two of them. He could just imagine it. The three of them cut a pretty picture. All the conversations the three would have together, with none of that confusing sarcasm to sully an otherwise enjoyable meal. He’d be very witty and charming as they would all eat together and they would be oh so grateful to be in his amazing presence. He chuckled softly, then, unable to contain his mirth he began outright guffawing in glee at the thought before cutting himself off quickly. He had to use his fingers to keep his beak shut to muffle the noises when he was unable to immediately silence himself. laughter was good for the body and the life he liked provided enough simple amusements to keep him laugh often, but he was at the delicate stage of the trap springing processes. he needed Scrooge to find him, but he also didn’t want the duck on edge. His foe was crafty, sneakier than anyone he knew besides Glomgold himself. it wouldn’t do if Scrooge heard him laughing for no obvious reason, because then he would know Glomgold had plans. He wouldn’t know what those plans were but he would know something was up. Alerting the enemy just wouldn’t do at all. He hadn’t played and lost dozens of old Scottish children’s games with McDuck all afternoon like some bladdered Scottish sailor making a show of reliving his childhood after having had one over the eight in his own damned cups only to fail his own scheme with premature and incriminating excited laughter. He glanced back but after seeing no one relaxed ever so slightly. He doubted McDuck had heard, but now was the time to get serious. Laughter could wait, because, as with all things, he just had to be patient in the knowledge that the better man would eventually win out. Meaning him, of course. He, Flintheart Glomgold was the better man. Scrooge’s irritating string of ridiculously good luck couldn’t last forever and when it finally reached it’s end old Flinty would be there with a party hat, a pair of scissors, and some good time explosives to celebrate the momentous occasion. What he’d do next was always the question. Taxidermy was the answer now, but when he’d first begun thinking of Scrooge as an enemy he’d thought of giving him the old Scottish funeral rites as befitting someone of his stature. Then Flintheart had become more familiar with the real Scrooge, and preparing the proper site for his enemy no longer seemed appropriate when considering his enemy's lackluster pride in his own country's heritage. Sure the numpty could get all in a huff about it when the world and a pretty little reporter was watching, but his daily behavior spoke of something else. The man didn't even wear a kilt. It was inconceivable, practically a Sassenach, a traitor to Scots everywhere, he was. He jumped the fist two steps of a stairwell, one of them having been rebuilt by himself with flimsy veneer of wood to trap the unsuspecting. If caught, they would have to wait until someone else came to free them before they were released. Unlike most of his traps it was a general one meant for no one in particular. Nearly every member of the Billionaire’s club had annoyed him over something or other, and even he could admit to being just the slightest bit petty. the stairs represented the last obstacle between himself and the venue for the snare he'd assembled for his archenemy. The room he stopped in was a quint little space with three overstuffed chairs facing a cozy little fireplace with a portrait of the club founder staring down from its place above the mantle. There was also an intricately designed coo-coo clock at the far wall. The red sheepskin chairs made for an excellent location for the trap he'd constructed, it was perfect, and he'd been proud to call it such every time he'd thought about it. He glanced behind himself quickly to see Scrooge had caught up with him yet. Finding no sign of the man of the hour, he gave himself a pat on the back to congratulate himself on his speed. Outrunning Scrooge McDuck was no mean feat. He left the door partially open before hopping onto one of the squishy armchairs. There was a pause, as memory combated with irrational panic when he remembered he’d rigged the chairs to be set off on contact. He’d calmed considerably when he’d recognized he’d chosen the correct one then felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He’d known his selection had been spot on from the start that was why he’d picked it. But like someone checking for the fifteenth time if their stove was off, the panic had still snuck up on him unbidden. Part of him had worried he might have forgotten where he’d erected the damned thing and doomed himself with his own forgetfulness. It was a strange thing he was beginning to notice something with his own mental faculties, the more he checked something, the less sure he became of his own memories as everything began to mesh uncomfortably and blur in his mind. He personally blamed it on McDuck. He hadn’t had the problem before he’d met the levvy heid, so it was obviously his fault. Just another reason to want the pain in his neck messaged out of existence. He drummed his hand on the chair, the white of his fingers contrasting nicely with the deep red of the dyed wool, as he wondered how long it would take the doaty to find hi. His haste had been impressive, yes, yes but he was sure his nemesis would have already arrived by now. “Maybe” he thought worriedly. “ Scrooge had already arrived, and is waiting for me to set off the trap myself.” His eyes darted around the room, almost of their own accord. He to appear nonchalant as the feeling that he was being watched snuck up behind him and began assaulting him in the back of the head with a walking stick, but it was a failure even in his own mind. He didn’t think Scrooge was in the room with him as he surveyed the area for the thirteenth time, but that didn’t mean much. Scrooge could have come across the room at some other point during the day, detected Glomgold’s surprise for him, then changed it in some significant way. It was possible he was now watching from somewhere safe, security cameras focused in on him, waiting in anticipation for the show he thought he would get as the accursed thing backfired on its creator. It was just the sort of trickery a man could expect from his nemesis. It could even be his own form of revenge. Scrooge loved to play innocent, but people had never really seen the true him. Not like he had. Like that time Flintheart had put up cameras in the McDuck manor  to watch the other Scot’s day to day activity after the mountain of a woman had left on her yearly retreat with her granddaughter during Scrooge’s birthday. It hadn’t provided him with much significant information. The man had been a dowie eyed ghost, mostly going through his old Butler cum Valet’s room, before checking in on a space that had once been shared by his ken, Della and Donald Duck. Glomgold had thought the man had been grieving at the time and had sent the burd off with her lass to mourn his family in quiet. Then the chookie had returned with the wee lass in tow and things had gotten nasty. She’d torn down all the cameras, and threated him with a visit from the boabies. Gross invasion of privacy, his tailfeathers! Scrooge had even admitted that he’d known about the cameras, which put everything he had seen into suspicion. Glomgold could no longer trust that what he’d seen hadn’t simply been a performance by Scrooge. If he couldn’t trust that the information was genuine, it had no purpose and he’d risked police attention for nothing. Fortunately for him he’d had the techies install a self-destruct mechanism in the cameras, but thanks to Scrooge’s acting skills he’d built up a vast archive of useless information, he’d likely never need. However, he hadn’t wanted to simply throw out the books that contained the notes he'd painstakingly recorded for an entire week so he’d sent it to a publisher instead. to his surprise they actually turned out to be a popular hit with the readers, with a couple needing to be reprinted after supplies had run out. thinking along the logic that if people were willing to throw money at a book that did nothing more than listed and described Scrooge’s favorite scents, he had thought writing his own biography would give him some much needed attention. his wishful thinking had not been made into reality. including the book he had bought for himself so he wouldn’t look like a dobber, he had sold a grand total of two books. learning from his mistake, he hadn’t tried the venture again. clearly it had been too soon to expose the diabolical workings of his brilliant mind to the unwashed masses. Not that he felt like the canny genius he was at the moment. No, currently he felt a bit dafty with nerves, waiting for any sign of Scrooge McDuck. if he found out the wallaper was sitting somewhere safe, happy as a clam, while Glomgold drove himself into a radge, wondering what his enemy could be planning, there would be words between them. “Hear me now, McDuck!” he roared, directing his vexation at any potential cameras, as he hopped atop the lambskin chair to make himself feel more impressive. “No one laughs at Flintheart Glomgold!” he raised a fist to emphasize his point. then, when no reply was forthcoming, he hopped down with an annoyed sigh. He was unsure what was next on the script, and in circumstances like this he found he liked it best when he settled his frustrations out on a well-cooked meal. He lightly tapped the service button the Billionare’s club used to alert the employees that one of their elite members required attending. “Good evening,” the disembodied voice of the head of staff greeted him civilly through the speaker that connected them. “Is there anything we can do to be of use to you, sir?” “Aye,” the thought came, spontaneous but genuine. “Kill Scroogie fer me and there will be a tip in it for you beyond your wildest dreams.” Instead he ordered for them to bring him four pulled bbq sliders, deep fat fried salmon on a bed of seasoned neeps and tatties, with a nondairy clootie dumpling on the side, and a decaffeinated coffee that was more almond milk than bean water. if McDuck was going to play the voyeur, the only show he was going to get was the sight of Glomgold enjoying the bloody hell out of the delicious cuisine available for the offering. He could already imagine how the old miser would feel. He’d be jealous, of course, it had been an impressive spread and no duck could look away from the Club special without wanting even a smidgeon of bite. but scrooge would pay for nothing he felt was overpriced. and the club’s food while beautiful was rather costly. that wouldn’t be a complication in his plan, in fact he was counting on scrooge’s tightfisted nature to win out over his own jealousy to keep him from buying any of the food on his own, which would obviously make the situation enjoyable. “Well Scroogie,” he thought to himself “if you don’t want to play the game my way you'll just have to watch me enjoy myself instead.” pleased with this idea, he gave the nearest camera a small wink in satisfaction. served him right for wasting all the time he’d spent today by not falling into the death trap and dying a gruesome death. Admittedly, he was not a patient man, but a quick check of the clock told him the meal was taking the servers longer to prepare than what was typical for them. he’d like to say this did not cause him concern, that, he did  not feel self doubt over his decision to even order the meal in the fist place with Scrooge’s whereabouts still yet to be accounted for, but that would have been a lie. “If I were scrooge in this position”, he asked himself, “What would I do?” The answer was obvious. if he was Scrooge and his ever so brilliant enemy had refused to play his infernal mind-games, he would simply opt to create some sort of distraction to prevent the chefs from noting his nefarious actions, and then poison the enemy’s food. The rival wouldn’t be able to one up him if he was dead. Ach, it was the little things like this that mad Glomgold want to be rid of the man as soon as possibly Scrooge had a canny mind and was true master at finding opportunities to strike when least expected. Well, it seems I’ll have to cancel my dinner. he thought with a disappointed sigh, clicking the intercom button to alert the staff he no longer desired what they had to offer him. At least his own home was stuffed to the gills with food he could enjoy to his heart’s content. Better still, he even had security cameras installed everywhere so he would know if someone was making an attempt on his life by simply reviewing the recordings at his leisure. Still, one of these days, he would like to go out and enjoy a meal without the shadow of Scrooge McDuck looming over him to put a damper on his fun, but today was not that day. he heard a knock and Glomgold rolled his eyes with an outward sigh. Either that was Scrooge himself or the meal he’d poisoned out of spite. Either way he wanted to see neither. “Come in and enter then.” he said in exasperation when the person knocked again, clearly waiting for a response. The door opened and a small female mouse entered, looking distinctly ruffled and apologizing profusely for her late arrival. She was a petite little thing, pretty, if that’s what got your blood going. She had apparently gotten trapped when one of the steps revealed to be made of some sort of flimsy wood, and caved in under her weight. He nodded, as some collateral damage was to be expected during the competitions he had with Scrooge. it would be the perfect lie to feed her if he wanted Glomgold to lower his guard. It was not going to work on him. He was not the sort of man who mistook ladies as harmless ingenues. No, he knew full well they could be just as dangerous as men, if not more so. It was a case by case scenario. the trouble was he was part of a generation that had emphasized politeness when interacting with the womenfolk, and it reflected badly on him as a person if he didn’t. So he was now in the awkward position of attempting to think of a way to refuse the food he’d ordered politely without outright accusing her of being in league with Scrooge McDuck. This was a harder task than it had any right to be. The mouse had smiled and greeted him warmly, obviously trying to make up for her tardiness with friendly customer service, before she began to lower the meal tray on the closest available. Glomgold had been startled by the noise the dished made as they shifted on the silver platter, before doing a double take, jumping up, and extending his hand feebly to stop her, but it was too late. The mouse had unknowingly propped the food tray on the nearest chair. THE CHAIR, in fact. It took mere seconds, but it felt longer, as the trap snapped and the little mouse was pulled face first into the lamb skin cushions, her scream in blind terror muffled expertly by the blood red upholstery. he withdrew his own outreached hand just in time to avoid a messy cleaving from the airborne ax that had previously been cleverly hidden in the fireplace. He had arranged for the weapon to be thrown when the wiring was triggered. As luck would have it her diminutive height meant the ax head had missed her by inches, and was now buried so deeply into the chair he could see an impression of it’s edges on the other side of the chair. However they were both faced with a problem: she was now in very real danger of suffocating. Glomgold hadn’t wanted to see Scrooge’s decapitated body spew blood from his severed neck like some sort of morbid fountain, so he had made provisions to minimize the amount of the sanguine fluid he’d be forced to see by soaking the majority of it into the chair. Unfortunately he had not captured his intended victim, and was left standing helplessly trying to decide on a plan of action he should take next. He mad a grab for the ax handle, concluding that if he managed to release it from it’s makeshift holster, he’d be able to use it to cut the poor woman free.Sadly, all he managed to do was burn himself on the instrument of demise that had been, until very recently, concealed inside a fire place. The pain from the burn had him reeling back, and in his momentarily blind agony, he’d accidentally walked straight into the fireplace, setting his well-oiled leather spats ablaze like a rushlight. Shrieking now, he tried stamping out the flames, struggling to keep the conflagration at bay. There was a fire extinguisher in the room, some small part of him that wasn’t consumed in raw panic reminded himself furiously. The Billionaires’s club, mindful of the potential for lawsuits among their illustrious clientele, kept things up to code. He had carelessly forgotten about it in his alarm. Cursing his lack of retentiveness, he had only just begun his search for the safety device, when he found himself covered from head to toe in white foam. Feeling like he had entered a state that altered between  numb haziness and hyper awareness, he startled when he heard the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping. He turned in place to see Shere Khan digging his claws into the cushioning of the armchair box cutters through a birthday cake. “Breath, girl.” The tiger ordered, after he had released the whimpering servant from her temporary prison. She seemed to gratefully obey, taking great greedy breaths of air like she’d believed she would never have the privledge of doing so again. He felt a flicker of guilt or something darn near close to it rise up in his throat as she gave her grateful thanks to Shere Khan and fled the room in terror, tripping over the remains of what had once been a supper fit for a Laird. He felt eyes roaming his body and he turned his head to see the tiger eyeing him impassively, like one might at a loaf of bread on discount in the clearance isle. he poofed up his feathers uneasily, feeling distressed under the other man’s gaze.To give himself something to do he began shaking the foam from his feathers to free himself from the cloying heaviness of chemicals in the fire retardant.”Will you be paying for the damages?” Shere Khan asked indicating the general chaotic state of the room with a scrutinizing once over. “If they make me. Glomgold admitted with a dramatic sigh. “And usually they do.” He would need to get an appraiser to insure they didn’t charge him more than was necessary. He then glanced at the hole the tiger had made in the upholstery and the pieces of stuffing that had been scattered haphazardly about the room. “Though it might be up for debate how much of the damage will be considered mine.” Shere Khan’s face made no change in expression, but their was a distinct impression that the feline was amused rather than annoyed at the comment. “I’d wager my actions would be protected by the Good Samaritan laws.” the cat said lightly, squaring out his shoulders, and placing his paws behind him in a parade rest. “I doubt I’d even need a lawyer.”the both stood watching each other, Glomgold feeling ever colder, even as his feathers dried. A quick glance behind him showed him that the fireplace had also been snuffed out by the fire extinguisher’s foam. The silence was uncomfortable, and one that needed filling, but for once Glomgold had found himself unable to say anything worth saying. how did a member of the rich and powerful go around thanking a fellow peer for saving a servant you had almost accidentally murdered with a snare that had been meant for someone in your own social circle. Especially since there had been ambiguity in whether there would even be  any potential victims for  the trap to capture as t he intended target had elected not to show up. He hadn’t expected an outsider to disturb the wiring and that made things... problimatic. This wasn’t something outsiders were likely to understand. It was a game he had played qwith Scroogeb for years while McDuck might scoff and outwardly ignore the interpretation of their bond, he was just as into the competition as he was. Having other people involved, onlookers that possessed no intimate connection either of them ruined the sport of it with their involvement. he looked at the tiger who seemed contented with doing nothing more  than staring at him. Glomgold grunted in frustation. “Well” he began. “obviously you’re here for a reason, so out with it, so come up with an explanation for this mess.” The tiger’s mouth gave a crooked twist of a smile. “Now, now.” he said evenly. “There’s no need to be defensive.” He opened his paws wide, as if he were a magician showing his audience proof that the demonstration he’d preformed for them had been a genuine act and no slight of hand had been involved. “I was merely taking a stroll past the gardens after conducting a quick chat with Mr. McDuck, and I--” Glomgold felt as if another wire had been tripped. “You were taking to Scrooge?” he asked current problems momentarily forgotten in favor of that one topic guaranteed to get his attention. “What for?” The feline paused at the duck’s visibly increasing irritation, conspicuously entertained. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you...” Shere Khan paused once again, and glomgold poked him in the stomach with his can. Well, tried to poke him in the stomach was the more honest description of what had happened. Glomgold, impatient with the excessive pausing, had moved to poke the cat in the belly. Shere Khan had quickly yanked the cane from him. “If you behave like this, I shall simply leave, and tell you nothing.” the tiger chided, voice at a low growl that seemed to indicate growing impatience with the bird. Flintheart sighed, retreated to his lambskin chair, and sat down. “Much better” The cat purred ”As I was saying, I had decided to extend a warm invitation to a little mini series series I plan to produce.” Glomgold frowned. That didn’t sound right. “Scrooge is branching into television shows now?” The tiger shrugged. “If life provides an opportunity to add to one’s life experience, why not embrace it fully?”  “I guess that’s true enough.” Glomgold frowned harder, trying to think of something that might be of interest to his enemy. “What kind of program are the two of you thinking of starting?” “We’re venturing into the murky realms of reality television.” Khan shrugged. “It’ll be a new experience for us both.” “You’ll be doing what now?” Glomgold asked confused. “Reality television.” Khan repeated. Then at the continued look of utter incomprehension on the duck’s face, his yellow eyes widening fractionally. “You don’t know what that is?” he asked. The question was asked in a nuettral and civil inflection that somehow managed to project incredulous disdain at the same time. Glomgold bristled, hating the tone at once. “Are you going to tell me,” he growled. “Or are you going to keep talking mince like a jakey who’s spent too much time in his cups?”The tiger’s roguish, not quite a smirk was back. “When I say ‘Reality’ television I am referring to a genre of television programming in which the actions of ‘real-life’ people are followed by a camera crew and recorded for the viewers.” Shere Khan explained. “That sounds...” Glomgold made an attempt at politeness but quickly abandoned it. “like you’re both off yer heads if you think it’ll work.”  “Maybe so.” The tiger allowed with a light chuckled. “But perhaps you’re not part of the target audiance.” The tiger pierced him with a crooked grin. “I’ve heard it said that the Victorian freak show never went away, that now it's called Big Brother or X Factor, where in the preliminary rounds we wheel out the bewildered to be sniggered at by multi-millionaires.” he paused, playing with his tie out of what was likely self consciousness “I can’t commit to the idea until i’ve seen evidence to back it up, however what I do know. is that, with the right spin, anything can be a money maker.” Glomgold grunted his assent. It was  true enough. the general public could be a bit dim in that regard. the fact that his company got through by  selling what he himself had to admit was cheap trash still surprised him, but that was where his advertising branch made the big money.as much as he’d like to say his success in wooing his customers was purely the result of his own charismatic personality, he was enough to know that his presence wasn’t the main driving force behind the sales. “So ol’ Scroogie wants in?” Glomgold asked for the sake of clarification, still feeling a little unsettled at the news.it didn’t sound like something his rival would have interest in persuing. “So it would appear” Khan said face going serious. “I’m to meet with himself and his lawyers to negotiate terms tomorrow,” That bit of news truly got his attention. Scrooge hated dealing with his lawyers. He’d need to awfully serious about the subject to include them in anything. “He didn’t mention anything to me...” he said voice soft and hesitant, more to himself than Khan. the cat chuckled. “I’d wager not!” he said, words bright with merriment. “I’ve only just spoken to him not thirty minutes prior.” Glomgold blanched at his words. That time frame would put the conversation  directly after he’d lost at Bonnetey. if that was the case McDuck had placed more value on havering on about this reality show with Shere Khan than perusing him. the  realization pushed something hot and pulsing through his veins that seemed to gather and spike at his fingertips. It was hard to aspire towards communication when the very air he breathed seemed tainted with jealousy and betrayal. He tried to keep the emotions withdrawn, and he managed to keep his inner turmoil at bay through sheer willpower alone. He cringed when he felt the wood on his chair give a threatening creak and he winced. He could do without breaking another expensive piece of furniture. Aye, the model of subtlety was he. Flintheart released the arm rest, and it made an ominous, creaking noise as it shifted ever so slightly beyond it’s initial framework. With a start he noticed his fingers had managed to rip a hole in the cushions. he felt a flare up of pain and realized he might have accidentally given himself a splinter. He coughed feeling the tiger’s attention was uncomfortable, and hid his hand behind his back to avoid any discussion on the matter “Well, good luck to the both of you.” He said saluting the tiger with a flick to his own cap. he had tried to make his voice sound cheerful, only to grimace as it cracked on a falsely high note.”Thank you.” Khan said, eyes scanning Glomgold’s features for a moment, before giving a sharp nod in farewell, then turning back the way he’d come. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Glomgold asked, studying the feline’s back with a halfhearted attempt at affable impassivity that sounded more like a masked vigilante demanding to know where his archnemisis had hidden the bombs. “I will be returning to the entertainment hall.” Khan said, his tone placide and smooth. “It seems I’ve forgotten something, and I’d rather collect it before my departure.” He hadn’t wanted to let the other man leave after saying so little. His instinct all but wailed at him to compile as much supplementary data as he was able but when he’d advanced forward to get closer, he’d stepped on a piece of china and the tinkle-crack of the crystal plate made both men wince. “Good luck sorting this all out.” Shere Khan said in a voice that sounded genuinely empathetic. “”Ach, this is nothing.” The duck shrugged. “I’ve been the cause of greater property damage than this before. He studied the room with the assessing glare of a professional. “I’ll send for the money, my accountant will scream at me till he’s got a face like a skelped erse, I’ll promise to never do what has them in an uproar, and then the same thing repeats next week. “Sounds like a plan.” The tiger said with a smile and Glomgold nodded. “There’s no reason to change a thing if it’s not broken.” to that the cat gave no reply and within moments the man was gone, moving with enviable fleetness of foot. He watched the mammal ‘s departure until the other man was out of sight. He then made the unavoidable calls to people he knew would give him a fair assessment of whatever damages he owed the Billionare’s club for this most recent misadventure. After a moment’s pause he ordered the server be given a handsome bonus for her grief. He was sure the young mouse had been an unintentional victim in his war with Scrooge, and if he was going to be paying the club she deserved to have some sort of compensation for what had happened to her today. The terrified expression that had taken over her face when she had been pulled into the cushions and the weak weeping she’d been reduced to after Shere Khan had pulled her free from the chair stood out in his mind’s eye. He grimaced and added one more zero to her tip. That terrified look would have been so much more meaningful  on Scrooge. Instead, because of Shere Khan, the other duck had been diverted from what was truly important. And Glomgold had been left looking like the bad guy. He gave an irritated snort. Well, two could play at that game. He would ask Khan if he could join in on whatever it was the cat had in mind, and then, when he agreed, (because who wouldn’t want Flintheart Glomgold to be in on whatever project they were cooking up?) he would use the time they spent together to kill Scrooge. Decision made, he ran towards the entertainment hall as quickly as his legs would allow. Scrooge would rue the day he’d inadvertantly foiled Glomgold’s assassination attempt.

[prowlpetrex]

Welcome to the Vivarium. Today we have selected ten young men and women from everywhere across this great nation. Im sure

[prowlpetrex]

[prowlpetrex]

Just a feeling but I thought I might as well punt it into the void. In the episode Riddler says he has no grudge against Cobblepot, and is only against Ozzie because he went after Lee. What gets me is that the penguin only goes after her because the ‘prince of puzzles’ asked him to do so. The theory is born out wishful thinking and probably won’t pan out, but what if those two are still in cahoots and this was a (seemingly) successful attempt to get Leslie to believe she had both Nygmas on her side and unwisely let her guard down (as much as she’s able, anyway) when before she’d be waiting for his sudden but inevitable betrayal.