#to be clear if I got to choose I’d choose a well-informed populace

[idiopathicsmile]

tell you what, i don’t love what TikTok’s rampant misinformation is doing to the fabric of our shared human culture but…that roasted feta pasta dish with the little tomatoes never misses

[themurphyzone]

Mystery at McDuck Manor Ch 1

This story is a huge change from my usual writing style. I thought I’d mix it up and have a little fun. 

Ch 1- The Scene of the Crime

Tonight I venture out of my home turf and into the unknown, trailing the path of crime wherever it may lead. I find myself standing in front of the imposing gates of McDuck Manor, an ominous creak sounding from the rusted bars. I was requested most highly by a certain...DWDbiggestfan1991 on an Internet forum to solve a matter of utmost pressing concern to his boss. 

The message is highly classified information, which I will not disclose to my narration lest the night wind carries it to eavesdropping ears. 

As I survey the grounds with a keen eye, I spy a dark figure sneaking out the front door with a square object tucked under his left arm. He rounds the corner and breaks into a run. 

I follow him to the back side of the property, where a tiny, damaged houseboat stays afloat in a pool. Judging from the blackened edges of several planks, it was safe to assume the engine had been hotwired. 

The figure dashes into the boat, tossing assorted knickknacks around as he searches for that unknown object. The time has come for my dramatic-and dare I say-daring entrance. 

“I am the terror who flaps in the night!” 

“Where’s all that smoke coming from? Show yourself!” The other duck demands in a near-unintelligible voice. Boy, he should really consider speech therapy. 

“I am the miscalculation which costs you millions of dough! I am...DARKWING-YIPE!” I duck a thrown snow globe, the glass shattering on the wall behind me. “What was that for?” 

The other duck balls his fists. “You barge into my home and expect a warm welcome from me? Well, you’ve got another thing coming, pal!” 

“And you expect an explanation from me when you rudely interrupted my introduction?” I say. “Now, explain what you plan on doing in this destroyed dump.”

“GET OUT OF MY HOME!” The duck screeches, leaping towards me. 

My honed senses enable me to expertly evade his enraged attack, and I point my trusty gas gun at his bill. “Yep, yep, yep,” I say. “Now will you be good and tell me what purpose you had for sneaking into a houseboat at 10:37 at night? Nothing good ever comes out of tiptoeing around.” 

Before he could reply, something whizzes by my head, knocking the gas gun out of my hand. When I look back, a cane had embedded itself into the panels, my gas gun hanging from the end by its handle. 

“Who are you and why are you attackin’ my nephew?” An old duck barks in a most peculiar accent. He stands on the edge of the boat, glaring at both of us with more rage than I would have thought was possible for an old geezer. “Curse me kilts, Donald! I turn my back for two minutes and ya already land yourself in trouble.” 

“Oh, for crying out loud, Uncle Scrooge,” Donald mutters. “I was only putting away a photo album.”

“Ah, so you must be DWDbiggestfan1991′s boss,” I say. “Scrooge McDuck, an honor to meet you. I am the caped crusader, he who flaps in the night, Darkwing Duck. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, what seems to be troubling you?” 

Scrooge storms over to the planks, pulling his cane out of the wall and letting the gas gun clatter to the floor. “You have ten seconds to take your fancy gadgetry and theatrics off my property,” he growls. “As for you Donald, couldn’t this have waited til morning?” 

Suddenly a large, rather dopey fellow rushes on board. “Darkwing Duck! You’re here! You’re actually here!” 

I fold my arms. “What kind of a hero would I be if I didn’t answer the calls of a needy populace in an orderly fashion?” 

He picks me up and crushes me in a giant hug. My lungs are on fire and I savor all the precious air I possibly can. One time the malicious miscreant Megavolt mangled the circuits of St. Canard’s power grid for his own nefarious purposes. Being tangled in his wires was preferable to this behemoth’s death hug. 

“So....” I gag. “Are you DWDbiggestfan1991 by...oof my organs...any chance?” 

He finally lets go, and I wheeze for breath. 

“That’s me! Launchpad McQuack, mind getting me an autograph?” 

Well, it would be rather rude of me to refuse. I sign his hat with a black sharpie. I even leave him a smiley face. 

“I’m never washing this baby again!” he exclaims. 

“Launchpad, may we talk for a moment?” Scrooge says in a dangerously calm voice. He pulls him to the side of the boat. I’m left with Donald, who glares at me. 

Well, it was certainly nice to know one duck in McDuck Manor had manners. 

“When I said you could bring someone who would help us figure out where the painting went, I did not mean use the Internet to hire A MASKED CLOWN!” 

“If I said he didn’t demand payment, would you be a little more welcoming?” 

“Why do I even-wait a moment, Launchpad. Did you say he doesn’t demand payment?” 

I clear my throat. “That’s correct. I do not accept payment for my services. Though a bit of gratitude would be nice.” 

Scrooge sighs, shaking his head. “I’m goin’ to regret this later. But as long as you work for free, I suppose there’s no other choice. Follow me to the garage. And don’t touch anything!”

Now I see why some call him the cheapest duck in the world.

But if he would kindly stop calling me a masked clown, that would be much appreciated. 

I stay behind him as I keenly take in all the details of dusty old relics that have fallen prey to neglect over the years. Strangely, there were green post it notes on some of the objects. I rip one off as we pass by a podium. 

I stow it in my pocket so I can examine in a better lit area. It could be a very important clue. 

“This is where I kept the painting,” Scrooge says, stopping in front of a stack of crates. “It has a picture of a pirate ship, and there’s a tear in the upper left corner.”

I thoroughly scour the area for clues with my magnifying glass. There was a faded rectangular area free of dust where the painting once sat, as well as several light footprints that led into the interior of the manor. 

“It appears that the perpetrator has made their way into your mansion,” I explain. “And I found these green post it notes right by the scene of the crime! Whoever pilfered the painting did a poor job of covering their tracks. Mr. McDuck, if you would please gather all the occupants of your estate so we can figure this out quickly.” 

“Wait, Uncle Scrooge!” Donald yells. “The boys are asleep!” 

“Nonsense, Donald,” Scrooge says with a dismissive wave. “Nobody is sleepin’ tonight until we figure out who stole that painting. I’ll wake up Webby and Beakley. Grab the boys and bring them down to the parlor. Launchpad, help this clown search downstairs.”

Lightpack salutes, his entire body stiff. “Aye, aye, Mr. McDee! Er, or was it sir, yes sir?” Scrooge taps him with his cane, and the larger duck falls to the ground, almost squashing Donald under his weight. 

The Darkwing does not have a need for a partner. I work alone! I have done everything by myself for years, and I most certainly have no need for a dopey duck who looks as though he can’t tell a triangle from the square root of 254. 

However, I feel generous today. “Come along, Lunchbox,” I say in an authoritative, heroic voice. “Let us begin our search...” I pause for dramatic effect as I figure out where to begin. “...in the lobby!” 

“Cool! Mind if I show you wear I crashed the limo one time? Mr. McDee’s face turned this funny shade of red after I did that!” he exclaimed. 

“Later. Duty calls,” I reply. 

I poke my head into the empty fireplace. “Find anything?” Limbobar calls. 

“Nope!” I cough. “Nothing but...ack...soot and brick! They did not use the chimney for this.” 

“Well, geez, I wouldn’t really expect Santa Claus to be the stealing type.”

Before I could yell at him for that remark, I bang my head against the brick as I crawl out. My suit is covered in ash, so I dust it off, coughing the entire time. 

Hope Scrooge McDuck didn’t mind a little ash on his nice looking rug. 

Next I continue my search into the kitchen, looking underneath the sliver platters for a crumb, a wrapper, or any piece of food that the thief might have eaten while committing this heinous heist. 

Another valiant effort, wasted. 

“Letterpen, we shall now head to the parlor.” I must carefully construct my statements so that nobody is aware that my search has so far yielded nothing. “I have allowed a sufficient amount of time to pass for everyone to be brought to order.”

“Okay, DW!” he nods. “Check this out!” He holds out a pair of aviator goggles in his palms. “Found it by the front door. I’m always misplacing my stuff. Lucky this was in an obvious spot.”

“Let me see that,” I say, examining the material under a magnifying glass. “Hmm...bought from somewhere exotic it appears. I will be holding these goggles as possible evidence.”

Lechepond shrugs. “Maybe one of the kids lost it. That Webby is always sneaking up on the boys with dart guns.” 

At this point I was getting bored out of my mind with the speculation. “That’s quite enough. Darkwing Duck shall begin questioning in the parlor momentarily. Who is the thief? Did they know each other previously? Why would the thief choose a painting and not the money?” 

“Is it my turn to ask a question?” Lumberpack asks. 

“Make it quick,” I mutter. 

He nods eagerly. “Why are you asking all these questions out loud?” 

“For the drama! What kind of superhero would I be without a few cliffhangers?” I protest. 

I’m sure it will be a long night.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

TrekFest 2017

Four times you fell for Bones, and the one time he fell for you, pt2: The Potentate

Word Count: 2178 Tags: @dolamrothianlady, @supermoonpanda, @kirkaholic123, @shewhorunswithfandoms @youdonebeengarthed, @starmission @emmkolenn@auduna-druitt @outside-the-government @yourtropegirl @pinkamour1588@impalaanddemons @flirtswithdanger @southernbellestatues@engineeringtrashcan @rayleyanns @sistasarah-sallysaidso @samaxraph99​

The one thing you’d always loathed about your position as an ambassador was the need to attend functions that were only loosely tied to societies you interacted with. Feasts were difficult, as you never knew what delicacy you might have to gag down lest you offend, but parties and balls were your least favourite. So it was with begrudging acquiescence that you prepared for the planetary ball of Malvar III. It was billed as a celebration of the Malvarite delegation choosing to join the Federation. It was really a gala of excesses the Malvarites could barely afford. Choosing the Federation was a no-lose scenario. Their government was on the verge of bankruptcy and joining would allow the economy of the planet to recover significantly from the recession it had been mired in for decades, as new trade partners would become available. They seemed determined, despite your assurances that there was no need for the fete, to empty the treasury showing the Federation they were somehow worthy.

You checked your reflection in the mirror one last time. The only benefit you could find to the evening was that it gave you an excuse to wear something more comfortable than your ceremonial ambassadorial robes. Which said a lot about their comfort, considering you were poured into a slinky little black dress and a strappy pair of heels.

The music was strangely appealing, low horns and percussion mostly, and the affair was quite calm, by earth standards. You were speaking to the Potentate over a glass of wine while a number of guests danced some kind of slow waltz. He was eager to continue picking your brain for every scrap of information about potential trading partners. The work of an ambassador was never done, you reflected, as he droned on about mining rights on the various moons of Malvar.

It was to your great surprise to see some familiar faces in the crowd. The Enterprise had delivered you to Malvar III at least six week previously, and you hadn’t seen another human aside from your diplomatic team since. You’d had word that the Enterprise would be retrieving you now that your work was done, and were pleased to see some of the crew had made it to the gala. Captain Kirk caught your eye and nodded at you over his drink, and then approached, a broad smile on his face. He bowed to the Potentate before addressing you.

“You look ravishing, Ambassador,” he complimented. “It’s no wonder you’re so successful.”

“I am more than a pretty face, Jim Kirk,” you chastised, and then took him in, trim and fit in his formal uniform. “Although one could argue the same for you. Those dress greys bring out your eyes.”

He grinned again and looped his arm in yours. “If you’ll excuse us, Your Eminence,” he smiled at the Potentate. “I’d like to steal the Ambassador for a dance.”

“Captain Kirk, correct?” The Potentate asked. Jim nodded. The Potentate looked back to you with an indulgent smile. “Our network tells us he is the most eligible bachelor in the Alpha quadrant, Ambassador. You would be well matched.”

You tried to stifle a laugh and failed. “I rather think Captain Kirk is married to his career,” you managed. Jim raised an eyebrow and shook his head. 

“As is the ambassador, no matter how well matched we may be,” he concluded. He offered his elbow and led you out on the dance floor.

“Thank you, Jim,” you started. “All he seems to want to discuss is mining and exploratory rights for the moons of the entire system.”

“Malvar III is poor, on the brink of revolution. It makes sense that he would grasp for whatever he can to quell the dissidents,” Jim commented.

“I tend to agree. Fascinating that he felt this opulent display was appropriate given the conditions of the populace,” you replied. Jim nodded. 

“I was surprised he insisted. I hear you recommended against it,” he agreed. The song seemed to end, and Jim brought you back to a cluster of Enterprise crew, including Doctor McCoy. Your breath caught when you took in his broad shoulders in his dress greys. He offered you a half smile.

“Bambassabor,” he winked. You grinned in response.

“Doctor Bones! How fare the children?” You asked. He offered you his arm and swept you out onto the dance floor, taking the opportunity to discuss Rayne and Kya at length with you. His wit was as sharp as you remembered, and you found yourself laughing as he related story after story about the children that had captured your interest.

“But what will become of them, Doctor Bones?” You asked, sorrow creeping into your voice. His smile changed and he drew in a deep breath. “They’re just children. And they’re all alone.”

“While you’ve been here, negotiating with the Malvarites, we’ve been busy too. Once the children were all well fed, nourished and healthy, each one of them tested off the books. The Yorktown Academy for Gifted Children was happy to assure each child a spot. The houseparents at the academy love the group. Rayne, in particular, is doing amazingly well. I got work this morning that he spoke in session,” he offered. “I would have liked to see them adopted, but at least this way they will stay together, where they can be guaranteed counselling and medical care that suits their pasts.”

“That’s wonderful news. I’ll have to go see them when I return to Yorktown.” You felt a warm tug knowing the children were being cared for by the Federation. Doctor McCoy escorted you back to the sidelines of the hall, thanking you for the dance and offering to get you a drink.

As you waited for him to return, the music changed, intangibly at first, and then took a more upbeat turn. The Potentate sought you out and joined you.

“You are well admired, Ambassador,” he commented. You shook your head.

“Captain Kirk was just being polite,” You dismissed, feeling a little uncomfortable.

“And the doctor?” He countered. You fought the flush that you felt creeping up your cheeks.

“Doctor McCoy was updating me on some orphan children that I befriended on my journey here. They are doing well after their ordeal,” you explained. The music became a little louder, and the dance floor cleared of social dancers. The beat picked up again, and the Potentate made a grand gesture toward the dance floor.

“And now you will see the beauty and athleticism of the Malvarite youth.” He gestured to a troupe of scantilly clad young men and women weaving their way onto the ballroom floor, their muscular bodies shining with glimmer in the lowered lights of the hall. As the music swelled, they began to dance, a rhythmic, sinuous motion, oozing raw sensuality. It was dancing clearly designed to seduce, and you suddenly remembered the material you’d read about the mating rituals of the Malvarites. The dance was considered introduction, courtship and consummation, all in one evening’s activities. It was surprising to you that the Potentate would agree to using the dance as entertainment.

The music was mesmerizing, and you were captivated. The smooth movements of the dancers flowed like water rippling, and you found it difficult to look away from the spectacle, particularly when a handsome Malvarite man danced toward you. “The dance is a mating ritual here,” The Potentate explained. “These men and women are looking for their bondmates.” You looked away from the young man to the Potentate in alarm.

“Their what now?” You asked, alarmed by what you were hearing.

“It’s a mating ritual. Our youth of breeding age dance. The dance allows them to select a mate from the unfettered among the spectators. I looks like Hr’narr has chosen you,” the Potentate said. “It is a great honour to be chosen by one as virile as Hr’narr.”

“Virile?” You managed, your voice barely a whisper. Hr’narr was dancing closer to you, his hips swaying suggestively. His eyes were locked on yours, and you were nervous to note he looked hungry, like he would ravish you in a split second. You looked away, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. There was no question he was attractive, the sheen on his skin accentuating the hard planes of each muscle group on his body. You concentrated on looking anywhere but at him, eventually focussing on your empty glass, wondering what had ever happened to Doctor McCoy’s promise of a refill. Anything to keep your mind off the sensual and erotic dancer moving closer and closer to you.

“Of course, if you were already mated, it would be a different story. He would never be so presumptuous as to assume that you would leave your mate for him. Hr’narr will eventually rule this land, after I am gone. You could not do better,” he outlined, watching your response. “Of course, if you merely seek a companion to warm your bed, Hr’narr is experienced in all of the Shant-Kar and has mastered the oral languages of -”

“Are you offering his sexual services to me?” You interrupted, astonished. “This man, who will be the next potentate?”

“Ambassador, I seek to give you whatever will make you happy -”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry I took so long. I couldn’t decide between the purple or the orange,” Doctor McCoy cut in, handing you a glass as he leaned forward. His lips brushed against yours in that casual way long-time lovers have, careless like an afterthought. He turned to the Potentate, who looked astonished and put out. “I’m sorry to saddle you with her for so long, Your Eminence. I’m sure she was boring you to tears with lists of potential trading partners and the like.”

“In fact, I was explaining the line of succession here on Malvar,” the Potentate recovered quickly. “Hr’narr is dancing tonight to find his future queen.”

“So he’s your heir?” McCoy asked, draping his arm around your shoulders.

“He is. He had expressed an interest in Ambassador Y/N these past weeks, and had hoped to woo her tonight with the dance of Klav-Nakt,” the Potentate explained, a sour look crossing his face. 

“Unfortunately, I’ve already wooed her with the dance of the irate doctor,” McCoy smirked. “It’s not as clever and fine looking as this, mostly involves me cussing and waving my arms a lot, but it was surprisingly effective.”

“Indeed. If you’ll excuse me.” The Potentate nodded, a grim smile plastered across his face, nodded to the musicians. The music changed once again to the low horns and percussion from earlier, and the dancers exited the hall.

Doctor McCoy led you out onto a quiet balcony. “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,” he offered, leaning over the edge of the balustrade, looking into the gardens. You tried to stop a giggle but were unsuccessful.

“Is that an apology?” You laughed, joining him. It was a beautiful night. The air was warm, scented with a sweet flower native to the planet.

“I’m sure you were capable of calling down that old windbag and his son just fine on your own, but it just seemed easier to step in and say you were already claimed,” he explained, turning to lean on one elbow and face you.

“You’re right, I was capable of extricating myself. But the way you did it kept it from becoming a diplomatic incident, so I’m not complaining,” you shrugged, looking across the darkened yard. In the distance, the triple moons of Malvar lit up the night just enough to see silhouettes and outlines.

“So, what is Shant-Kar?” He asked. You rolled your eyes.

“It is a specific discipline, similar to learning a martial art. Except it’s about sexual prowess and satisfaction,” you explained. McCoy had chosen that moment to take a sip of his drink and promptly spat it out, over the balcony. You smirked. “There are some who might say human men could do well to learn from the Malvarites.”

“Sweetheart, I studied backseat of the car, furtive dorm-room liasons and supply closet quickies. And I’ve also been told I’ve mastered a few oral languages -”

“I don’t think the Potentate was referring to dropping f-bombs and screaming damnit, Doctor Bones,” you teased. It was his turn to roll his eyes.

“You can just say Bones, Bambassabor,” he allowed with a soft smile. You tilted your head and took him in, dress uniform unbuttoned at the neck, hat long abandoned somewhere. The sharp angle of his jaw was outlined in the low light, and you realized if you stayed out on that balcony even a moment longer, you would do something stupid.

“I should turn in, Bones.” You pushed away from the balustrade and smoothed out your dress. “I’ve got one final meeting in the morning, and I understand the shuttle is leaving before lunch. Thank you again for your assistance back there. It would have been awkward to have to explain my sudden acquisition of a husband. And a bit of a conflict of interest too.”

“My pleasure, Bambassabor,” he winked.