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babblingbonnie · 11 months

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PARASOL

CHAPTER ONE: Peculiar Parcel!

when a peculiarly shaped package arrives on Scrooge's desk, he takes some time to reminisce about the day he arrived in Louisville to find that dinky steamboat on the Mississippi river and the ducks that took him in. Albeit one seemingly reluctantly...

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hello - I'm very much in love with 2k17 ducktales as well as the older versions! I wanted to try and merge some of the complete life and times of scrooge mcduck by Don Rosa with 2k17 ducktales because for some reason I adore ducks that also happen to be sailors.

There is a major spoiler warning for 2k17 ducktales season 3 finale, though it came out a few years ago I wanted to add this just to be sure you're aware. This is cross published on Quotev -- I also apologize for any inaccuracies, I really hope you enjoy this silly little story! :-)

CHAPTER ONE: Peculiar Parcel!

A PARCEL HAD FOUND ITS WAY TO SCROOGE'S DESK THAT MORNING. It was long with odd bulges along its surface and seemingly insignificant. It sat, and sat, and sat.....then sat some more.

In fact, the sun was already setting slowly in the foreground behind wide windows by the time Scrooge had actually taken a look at it.

It had been a busy day full of mundane meetings and even more soul-wrenching interviews for a new Board of Director as his old one turned out to be evil.

Figures, with a name like Bradford it was only a matter of time before something mildly evil became of him.

The children were lively as ever, an occasional scream and the sound of something thumping on the ground could be heard outside his office. Shenanigans afoot.

Della's voice seemed to carry throughout the whole manor, and it was assumed that she was an avid player of whatever game the children were participating in as the duck's battle cries rang across the air with promises of multiple darts to whichever body part was exposed if she caught them.

Scrooge had passed Donald in one of the numerous sitting rooms before he had retreated to his study, sharing a few exchanges of words and his one daily comment about his nephews free-loader status.

By the sounds of furious quacking it seems like the rambunctious group had roped the sailor into their chaos.

Scrooge chuckled into his work, cringing ever so often at the sounds of crashing followed by 'oops!' every time, without fail. Usually he would go out there and wave his cane around like a true old man telling dastardly kids to get off his lawn, threatening them that they would be the ones paying for everything with a crack.

But that afternoon paperwork demanded the McDuck's full attention, he couldn't go on any longer without a Board of Director. Mostly because he had taken up the duty himself and he was very much over it. Just because he was willing and able to put in the hard work, doesn't mean he enjoyed it.

The Scottish duck could only hope with all his heart that Beakly or Duckworth would step in and tell his family to STOP BREAKING EVERYTHING.

Trying to push all that, as well as the nagging thought of how much the damages were going to cost, to the back of his head Scrooge hummed a small tune that sounded vaguely familiar.

But he couldn't put a finger on what exactly while he began to hunker down and start reading through words printed in a font size that shouldn't be legal to use.

Something about racecars...lasers...airplanes maybe? It was all a blur, really.

Sifting through the sea of papers, his hand eventually hit the previously mentioned package after a quite violent display of signing a document for the hundredth time. The hand that held a golden ball tipped pen tightly froze midair, a couple inches from the table while Scrooge blinked out of work mode tiredly.

Glancing at the clock that hung just above the study doors it was no wonder why the brutal festivities had died down, leaving the manor deadly silent. It was almost two in the morning.

Had time really passed so quickly? Bah, of course paper work would keep him beyond the hours he could be sleeping.

Tugging the signature black top hat that had suctioned its place on his head from extensive use off his skull, Scrooge flipped it over and placed it beside him on the table before returning all attention towards the brown package that now sat before him.

A hint of confusion mixed with a healthy dose of suspicion took over the duck, after all the richest duck in the world has many enemies and those enemies try all sorts of tricks and schemes. Perhaps it was Flinty sending him some sort of deformed bomb just to inconvenience the McDuck.

Not that it would be the first time. Probably not the last.

Poking the hazard with his pen, the Scottish duck was able to determine it passed the first test of not exploding immediately.

Closing his eyes with a tired sigh, Scrooge almost left the mysterious item alone for a problem to deal with in the morning....well it's already morning. Fine, that afternoon.

That of course, was the original plan before his eyes caught hold of the particular handwriting scribbled on it's rough surface. It was small, almost as small as that blasted font on the multiple resumes he just read.

Slightly shaky, but with beautiful penmanship nonetheless and a unique lettering for the first initial of his name that only one person had ever done for him.

Despite the excitement (one that he would never tell anyone about) that bubbled up through his webbed feet and to his hands, Scrooge jabbed the package one more time in cautious habit before nodding to himself with a confident smile that this was for sure not a bomb.

Sitting back in the chair he had stood from in order to glare at the now-safe package properly, Scrooge sat with his back straight and hands folded in front of him in an attempt to regain a dignified appearance despite no one else being in the room.

It didn't matter anyway, as the next moment consisted of the McDuck leaping forward in his chair and ripping open the wrapped item like a duckling on Christmas morning.

Shredded bits of packaging laid about the table and floor, the now uncovered item placed delicately over a thrashed background of brown and torn paper with paper work thrown about.

A fond smile found its way to Scrooge's bill, running a feathered hand over the top with a ghost of distance between it and his hand.

"Well...Bless me bagpipes."

Scrooge laughed quietly, brushing off some loose dust and strands of fabric that no longer clung to it's original place. The quiet moment felt slow, and moonlight poured in around him like a thin blanket. Specks of dust seemed to shine in the light like diamonds, while the item before him looked like it almost glowed like magic under the light.

The item in question was a vintage parasol -- a white base with beautiful blue lace work over it. Lace that use to be pure white hung along the edges for a couple inches, now a tiny bit darker in coloring due to its age.

Something that Scrooge himself wouldn't have paid more then a few seconds attention to back then, and probably wouldn't now if the duck hadn't happened to know the history behind this specific sun blocker.

A small part of Scrooge couldn't believe that the thing was sitting on his desk right now, he thought it was long forgotten or turned to dust by mere age.

A bigger part of him use to stew in disbelief that his uncle hadn't included the parasol in the inheritance, but he had gotten that years and years ago so this showing up now clued him into the bigger mystery that he was pinning down in his head.

Eyeing the umbrella with a scrutinizing gaze that only an old miser could perfect, Scrooge took mental notes about any rips or snagged lace admonishing the top layers of the parasol with an intention to get it fixed as soon as possible.

During his search of fixable imperfections Scrooge came across a small note on some stiff stock paper that was stuck in one of the folds of the parasol, and the McDuck's interest peaked immediately.

Plucking it from its place, Scrooge took a few moments to adjust his small spectacles that sat snug on his beak and began to scan the card.

'Dear McBrat,

Wasn't sure where to send this to where it would reach you personally. Your mailing system is ridiculous and I want to send a formal complaint but your HR is just as, if not more, preposterous. I'm sure this is by design, but jeez kid it's like you expect bombs in the mail. Ha!

Your aunt wanted this sent to you with Pothole's things, but it got lost due to some sort of events that I couldn't relay to you because I have no idea how it ended up in the Forgotten Brewery Caves. I knew it was hers because of the stitching, I'd recognize that nuisance of a last name anywhere. I'm only sending this because I unfortunately owed one last thing to your uncle.

If you're ever down in Kentucky, come finish that race that old Pothole was too cowardly to finish. You'll win me that Southern mansion.

regrettably,

Porker Hogg.'

The idea that Porker was even still alive shocked Scrooge almost more then anything else described in that letter. He had already finished the race anyway, with the guys nephew.

What's with the information about the parasol being found in the Forgotten Brewery Caves anyway? That was one of the few caves located along the Mississippi, and even then most of it is blocked off.

How was it even lost in the first place, and now that he really thought about it how was it that Porker had found the parasol without packaging as stated in his letter but Scrooge received it in a package with his aunts handwriting?

Immortality for the first problem...maybe time paradox for the second...? Rubbing the bridge of his beak, Scrooge groaned into the open air and let out a deep sigh knowing he would end up checking whatever was happening down there one way or another.

If one thing as important as this was lost, imagine the other heirlooms that could be scattered in some other cave without his knowledge. The idea sent chills down Scrooge's spine.

An almost silent sound of the door being pushed open brought Scrooge out of his deep contemplation, eyes snapping towards the entrance that was now cracked open.

One of the many ducklings that resided in the mansion poked her head through the doorway, curious eyes glinting in the dark while she looked around the room before landing on the older duck.

"Dad...?"

Scrooge straightened at the title, if the McDuck claimed he was use to being called a 'dad' he would be absolutely lying through his teeth.

He didn't detest it, obviously. The duck was more then overjoyed to learn that the duckling in front of him named Webbigail was of his own flesh and blood, but that didn't make the title any more normal to him.

He'd gone through life without any real thought put towards having kids of his own, he never settled down quite enough for that and by the time it was even a feasible idea, he had all his other free time taken over by nephews and nieces and other family members.

"What're yew doing out of bed, Webby?"

Scrooge pushed on through his slight dilemma of the title that was bestowed upon him only a couple months ago.

"I was just thirsty, but now I'm thirsty for whatever you've got on your desk!"

Webby gasped, having noticed the blue umbrella that her dad placed a hand over. Scrooge smiled in response, lifting the laced parasol with both hands under it, making sure it was secure before shuffling over to Webby who bounced around on her feet.

It was an ongoing mystery to how she had any amount of energy this early in the morning, and Scrooge was sure he'd never truly find out.

"Now...careful dear, this is my Aunt (Y/n)'s beloved parasol. Technically I own it, she never did pay me back."

Scrooge mused, the last bit of the sentence hushed under his breath while he counted up the combined interest of what he should of been paid by now. Not that he ever forgot, every year he counted up what his aunt and others owed him. Like his uncle Jake who owes $8362 of accumulated interest.

"Aunt (Y/n)," Webby repeated quickly, excitedly looking over the parasol "Pothole McDuck's wife! Originally daughter of Blackheart Beagle, but after she married she took the McDuck name! She saved you and Angus during a steamboat race against Blackheart and the Beagles."

"Aye, she did. She jumped into the muddy Mississippi just for me dime too."

Scrooge added onto the list of facts that Webby was enthusiastically reciting from memory. Letting his shoulders relax as the duckling with messy white hair took the parasol from his hands and held it delicately in her own.

Reaching into his coat Scrooge pulled out the familiar dime that hung around his neck 24/7 while talking about the experience.

"Thought she might not come back up after she went headfirst in," Scrooge murmured, the vague feeling of terrified desperation that his younger self had been frozen in was crawling up his neck as he turned the dime over in his feathered hands.

It's face was a bit rough but that would be expected for how long Scrooge has kept it. The fact that it was still shiny and readable was a miracle.

Holding it in front of him the older duck briefly thought over just how much panic he went through when the dime had rolled off the edge of the boat all those years ago.

"Both my uncle Pothole and I couldn't believe it, but she managed to grab it in time and then single handedly stopped 'em from throwing us over!"

"Wow, she sounds so cool! I've been wanting to learn more about aunt (Y/n) and uncle Pothole - I mean I know they lived in Louisville for awhile and Pothole sold his steamboat to you but I couldn't find anything about the actual race itself-- ...."

Webby trailed off, noticing the cane wielding duck was only half-heartedly listening.

Gazing at the shiny silver coin, Scrooge let a fond expression take over his features before moving the dime out of view to focus on his daughters face again, noticing her abrupt silence.

She was watching him closely, hugging the parasol closer in an upright position and probably wondering where Scrooge had just gone to in his memories.

A hopeful grin tugged at the corners of Webby's beak, having recognized the mood that her father was in. A story telling one.

She quickly grabbed his hand, rushing them both back to Scrooge's desk without any warning. Webby always knew when the billionaire was stuck in reminiscing something that had happened years and years ago in his oh-so daring life, a telltale sign being when Scrooge had his eyes glued to his number one dime.

A piercing but glazed over gaze, when ranges of emotion from sadness and happiness and everything in between suddenly became very apparent on his face.

"Tell me everything," Webby all but squealed, a dash of wonder sprinkled her eyes and wide smile.

Almost shoving her father back into his large lounge chair, Webby plopped the parasol down before scrambling after it onto the desk. Completely oblivious to the previously important paperwork that was now rather unimportantly laying on the ground.

Chuckling nervously at just how much joy seeped through Webby's small body at potential McDuck information, Scrooge took a few moments to get comfortable in his chair.

It was moments like these that the small girl loved, moments that were few and far between where she would spot Scrooge staring ahead (usually at his dime,) but in his head he was far away. She would practically corner her dad and lovingly ask (force) him to tell her about whatever memory he was thinking about.

Moments when it was just her and Scrooge.

"Well, what do ye want to know, lassie?" Scrooge asked slowly, stuffing the precious dime down his red coat.

Placing his cane on the ground so it leaned on the chair, the McDuck reached out over the edge of the desk and grabbed Webby by the armpits and dangled her in the air like a wet cat for a few moments before placing her on his knee with an expectant stare.

"Everything! Tell me everything -- oh oh! How'd you meet them? Were they nice-? How about every single detail about the race, how did you guys find the treasure in such muddy water-?! Uhm- also what about the parasol? How'd aunt (Y/n) get it -- what was she like? Why did she jump into perilous waters for your dime? Was uncle Pothole really a writer? Is he as stingy as other McDucks? How did he know the location of the Drennan Whyte? Did he really sell his steam boat to you at a cheap price?!"

Webby rambled on, intense hand motions flaring everywhere while squirming in Scrooge's lap.

"Well-!"

"And who's Porker Hogg?!"

Scrooge stared down at the duckling bewildered, not because he was cut off nor was it from all the overwhelming questions. He was far use to that, it was mostly because she mentioned Hogg. He wasn't aware Webby even knew vaguely the name, let alone the guy.

The white feathered duckling in his lap craned her neck slightly to look up at him, blinking a couple times before pointing behind her at the somewhat crumpled letter Scrooge found in the parasol that sure enough had Hogg's dastardly name signed at the bottom.

Forming his beak into a slight 'o' shape, the older duck nodded in understanding.

Clearing his throat after a couple seconds had passed by of more winded questions, Webby stopped short and excitedly began to shake about a bit in her seated position.

She looked like she was going to burst at the seams with more questions if Scrooge didn't start talking now. So he did, placing a comforting hand behind his daughters shoulder as a support while she leaned into his side.

Scrooge let her settle down a little more before he used his other arm to spread out as far as it would go, pointing to a slightly large round oak picture frame that held the image of two white feathered ducks on the wall, just to the left of his parents grand photo.

One duck, the taller and gruffer looking one, had a scruffy white beard under his beak with eyes that looked permanently grumpy, much like his fathers stern face in the aforementioned picture next to this one.

A long wooden tobacco pipe was held between his beak, and a sailor outfit adorned his body. A bright blue sailor's captain hat sat perfectly on his head, tuffs of short feathered hair poked out slightly.

The boatman had an arm in a bent position, having offered it to the other duck in the photo who had her dainty arms wrapped tenderly around his. She had a large giddy smile and kind eyes, long lashes curled a bit above them.

Her hair was short and a little wild, and she wore a short sleeved blue collared dress that was buttoned up on the right. A blue lace parasol was held tight in her hand, casting a shadow above her in protection from the sun that beat down that day.

Both ducks were facing a little tilted from the camera in a candid sort of way as if just having noticed the camera during a normal walk, and despite the gloomy attitude of the sailor, Scrooge knew he absolutely adored the woman next to him more then anyone else.

His uncle Pothole was happiest with (Y/n)…and maybe a little money here and there that he horded. Mainly aunt (Y/n).

Webby followed Scrooge's hand all the way to the photo, beaming as she noticed who it depicted.

"Let's start with meeting my uncle Pothole and aunt (Y/n), eh?" Scrooge began, restating their names as if introducing characters in a book.

A playful tone went along with his words and he leaned forwards slightly again to fondly touch the parasol one last time before diving into retelling the long and daring adventure of childhood memories.

Tilting backwards, the old miser thought for a bit before opening his mouth. Webby sat impatiently by his side, fidgeting with her hands as she anxiously waited.

"It all started when I got a job as a cabin boy on a cattle ship from Glasgow, heading to New Orleans."

Scrooge spoke, and with each word Webby saw her father become more and more sucked into the past. Starting to truly relive past events, and the white feathered duck swore he could smell the ocean salt that wafted in the wind while he stood on the deck of the boat.

He was suddenly there, transported to the stylish streets of New Orleans and feeling the murky river water of the Mississippi that he travelled up. Hearing the constant chatter and buzz of enthusiasm upon reaching the dock in Louisville, Kentucky.

He made sure to tell Webby just how marvelous the gala he had docked on was, how the air tasted of fortunes being made. How exciting the view of this bustling town meant to him.

Scrooge chuckled, recalling his wonderment for the whole event that never really did stop phasing him. Glancing down, the duckling that was stuck between his side and the firm armrest could bearly contain her excitement any longer, and Scrooge knew he should probably get on with the tale.

"Quite a sight for a penniless lad from Glasgow, but I still needed to find my uncle."

END . next chapter: Bet on Drennan Whyte!

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I'm going to be changing around certain aspects of each story to try and fit, so this is very much canon-divergence in both universes. Keep in mind, some parts about reader are already predetermined but other things are customizable!

Thank you so much for reading, I have no idea how to tag things :)

#dt17 scrooge #dt17 webby #angus 'pothole' mcduck #porker hogg #ducktales 2017 #the life and times of scrooge mcduck #ducktales x reader #reader is a anthropomorphic duck #a silly goose if you will #more like a silly duck more accurately #Ducktales Parasol #female reader

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