#which is it’s own scary thing. like last night my knee actually fully buckled under my weight when I tried to stand up

[nope-body]

.

[cotton-tails]

So I saw this last night, and the little angsty plot bunny in my head woke up and I just had to write something. Fully intended to be a drabble of sorts, but of course it turned into a four page tear-fest, so grab the tissues and strap in.

Oh, and I haven't edited this, it's just 3am word-vomit, so enjoy the mess!

-

“So, this hasn’t exactly gone to plan.”

Della snorts cheerlessly at Donald’s deadpan comment, struggling into a sitting position and wincing at a twinge in her elbow. The chains dig into her arms with every movement, a very clear upgrade from the ropes they’d all been able to break out of within several minutes not too long ago. These idiots don’t know who they’re messing with.

Or they do; probably a little too well, hence the plan that fell apart very quickly. And the chains. And the scary looking red lightning below them.

“Shut up!” Heron snaps behind them, cuffing Donald a little too roughly around the head.

He doesn’t react more than a sharp hiss and a dark glare behind him, and Della can’t help the sharp pang of guilt under the surge of anger. She bites back a comment, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground until the villain is out of earshot.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, keeping her voice low.

“What? Why?” Donald sounds confused but she can’t bring herself to look at him.

“You should be with Daisy right now,” she says, “I’m the one who guilted you into staying, into coming on this stupid trip. And now we’re facing the very real possibility of dying.”

Donald is quiet.

Forcing herself to look up, she frowns at the look on his face. He still doesn’t say anything, but the expression says it all; ‘Della-you-absolute-idiot-what-are-you-blathering-on-about?’

“I came on this stupid trip cause our kids were in trouble,” he hisses eventually, “my family were in trouble! You think I wouldn’t ditch my vacation in a heartbeat for any of you?”

“I-” Della starts, but her voice catches, rendering her utterly speechless. He’s not lying, she knows exactly what he would do for the family, for her. Yet, somehow that knowledge isn’t exactly helping.

She misses her chance to reply, all conversation cut off with the explosive arrival of Scrooge and Bradford through the roof.

Della clenches her fist and almost bites through the inside of her cheek as he slams to the ground. She manages to chime out a ‘Hey Uncle Scrooge,’ with Donald when his pained gaze finds them. Beakley mutters a sarcastic ‘Fantastic,’ from her other side. She can only watch as a now armoured Bradford, armed with the sword, picks him up by the back of his coat and drags him up the stairs. He’s blathering on about something, but she’s stopped listening; too busy focusing on her battered and beaten uncle and how this could have gone so completely and utterly wrong.

It’s the usual spiel anyway, threats to destroy his family, his adventures, everything he had worked for, blah blah blah.

Then the contract is revealed, and her stomach drops to somewhere around her knees. If they don’t find a way out soon, Scrooge will have to either sign his life away or they all die, and frankly, neither option sound particularly appealing.

It’s only when Bradford sacrifices his own agents that the desperateness of the situation really sinks in. It’s one thing to talk about murder, it’s entirely another to actually do it. And if Bradford is willing to throw away his own agents, Della can’t imagine what he would be willing to do to her family if Scrooge doesn’t sign.

He tries to buy some time. Della can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he tries to figure out how to get out of this one. She huffs out a half-hearted laugh at the sharp quip about the fine-print. He’d figure something out, he always does. Not to mention the kids are bound to have found a way out by now, they’d pick up the rest of their allies and be on their way to disrupt the whole evil plan.

It’s just a matter of-

“Ugh! Enough stalling!”

Never mind.

“You need some incentive.”

Della does not like where this is going.

“Perhaps the life of your most trusted ally?”

The three of them snap their heads forward as Bradford stalks towards them, sword dragging on the concrete threateningly. As the screeching rings in Della’s ears, the only thought racing through her mind is ‘not Donnie, not Donnie, please, don’t take my brother.’

Her heart almost stops when he scoops Donald up by his collar, his cry echoing in her ears.

“Donald!” Three voices scream.

She can barely breathe, crippling panic bubbling up inside. All she wants to do is close her eyes and scream, break these chains and drag him back to safety, but she can’t move, she can’t take her eyes off her twin as he’s dangled over the edge.

“What will it be Scrooge? Adventure? Or your Family?”

‘Just do what he wants!’ She’s not ashamed of the thought. They’ll figure out a way to reverse the contract, there’s always a way, always a loophole. Just do it so she can see her brother safely on solid ground.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

She can’t say she’s surprised at how quickly he gives in.

“No! Don’t!” Donald screams, “find a way out! You can beat him!”

The pen is already in his hand. “It’s not worth the risk lad.”

They can only watch in horror at the golden glow that circles around him, lifting him up and binding him with unbreakable chains that drag him to the ground.

“I did it!” Bradford crows triumphantly. “The great Scrooge McDuck, now only a poor old man!”

Della’s heart breaks just a little at the look of absolute misery on her old uncle’s face, but she doesn’t have time to mourn properly, because Bradford is talking. Again.

“Normally I wouldn’t indulge in such petty villainy,” he says, his gaze turning back to Donald, still dangling over the edge, with a glint in his eye that makes Della’s blood run cold. “But since this is a special occasion.”

He lets go.

Della’s eyes meet Donald’s for an agonising second, and then he’s gone.

There’s a flash of red, and someone is screaming.

She doesn’t even realise it’s her until a rough hand knocks her back.

“Shut it! Or it’ll be you next!”

Hot tears stream down her beak and she presses her forehead into the cold concrete, not even bothering to choke back a sob. Over the pounding of her own taunting heartbeat in her ears, she hears the sound of the machine powering down (‘Too late’ her traitorous mind provides), of her kids voices yelling something, and Scrooge shouting for them to be careful.

And Bradford, confused and angry as her family finally, finally step in to save the day.

His voice sets off something inside that she hadn’t felt since the day Lunaris betrayed her. A raging anger that burns through her, overwhelming any other emotion and completely taking over her mind.

The chains are no longer an obstacle, and even Beakley can’t stop her from launching herself at the buzzard. They tumble down the stairs, fists flying and feet kicking. Everything blurs after that, which may or may not be a side effect of a rather painful bump on the head as they hit the ground at the bottom of the staircase. She’s kicked off, then it’s just a cloud of lights and bodies and a strong arm holding her back from doing anything overly-reckless and potentially stupid.

The kids, her (their) beautiful, wonderful kids, figure out the loophole and the ever-binding contract disintegrates.

It’s done.

The maniacal villain is defeated once more. The world has returned to rights and the sounds of celebration fill the air.

But Della can only stand and watch, her hands trembling and eyes burning. Beakley stands behind her, hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to give comfort if needed.

He’s gone.

Her brother, the other half of her soul; just… gone.

And… oh.

Her knees buckle, a wrecked sob forcing its way from her throat. Beakley catches her with a arm round the shoulders and a hand under her elbow, lowering her gently to the ground as she crumples into a ball. She presses her hands to her eyes in a hopeless attempt to stem the tears as everything comes crashing down.

“It’s okay, let it out dear.”

He shouldn’t have been here. He should’ve been on that amazing adventure with Daisy, sailing together on that old houseboat. After everything life had thrown at him, after all the madness they’d been through, he’d finally caught a break, finally found that amazing person who loved him as fiercely as he loved her.

Then Della had come along, crying about lost time and not being ready. She hadn’t wanted to him to leave, even on a stupid vacation that he would very clearly be coming back from.

Now he wouldn’t even get the chance to go.

And it’s all her fault.

“Mom?”

The obvious confusion and concern in Huey’s voice is enough to send her tumbling over the edge all over again, fresh tears springing up at the thought of having to explain what happened to her- to his kids.

Scrooge hurries them away, and she tries not to listen to the hushed explanation, the startled gasps, and she has to cover her ears for the rest. She can’t stand it.

It’s all her fault.

“DELLA!”

‘What?’

There’s no mistaking that voice.

Her head snaps up so fast she’s half sure she’s given herself whiplash. Even through blurred eyesight, she knows that silhouette, that outfit, that stupid hat. She blinks, sniffing and scrubbing at her face with her sleeve, hardly daring to believe.

It shouldn’t be possible, there’s no way it’s possible. She saw it, she saw him fall, saw the flash of lightning, the empty space where he had been only moments before. She watched her own brother die. So how was he standing ten feet in front of her, laughing as he’s tackled by several small and colourful blurs?

A hand appears in front of her face and she looks up into the stunned face of her uncle. He looks almost as much of a mess as she feels, tearstains tracking down his cheeks and spotting on his coat.

“I think it might be best if we just don’t question it,” he says, helping her to her feet.

His hands are shaking as he holds hers tightly, but she doesn’t comment; it can’t be any worse than her own trembling limbs. They turn back to Donald, who’s ended up sat on the floor under the collective weight of the kids. He’s got a tearful Louie on his shoulder and several kids wrapped around his torso as he struggles to his feet, and Della can see him mouthing a headcount as he takes them all in.

“I swear every time we see you, you have more children.”

She hadn’t even noticed Panchito and José just beside him, grins wide and eyes twinkling with amusement and, in José’s case, something else that she can’t quite place. Donald just laughs at Panchito’s observation, the sound sweet as honey and causing even more tears to well up all round. The pure relief that sweeps through her is almost enough to make her knees give way again, but Scrooge’s hand gripping hers and Beakley’s arm still around her shoulders is just enough to keep her grounded.

Then he catches her eye.

“Hey Dells.”

The kids must see something in her face, cause they have to good sense to dart out of the way just moments before Della hurls herself at her brother. They almost topple backwards, but Donald is able to keep them just about upright while Della just focuses on wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. His arms circle her waist, holding her just as tightly. The tears are streaming freely now, but she’s beyond caring. He can yell at her about ruining his shirt later and she’ll just take it with a grin.

“You idiot!” she yells, her voice muffled by his shoulder, “I thought you were dead!”

“For a minute, so did I,” he says into her hair, “how about we just call it even?”

The soft jibe only makes her laugh, and she holds him just that little bit tighter.

Miracles do happen, and in the end all that matters is love, family and adventure.

But if he thinks she’s going to let him go galivanting off on some adventure without her now, then he’d better think again.

[readingalcove]

31 Day Horror House, Day 30

   Day 30: What the head of the household really answers to

With a sharp breath, you sat up in bed.

You had been asleep, a better, deeper sleep than any of the previous nights. It was hard to tell whether it was something about the house, or just that your day had been exhausting, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that you were certain you had just heard the door.

The only trace of light in the room was a line of yellow underneath the door. It appeared to be closed, but, beyond trusting anything that happened in the house, you groped around the nightstand, trying to find the lamp switch and failing.

Hopping out of bed, you held your arms out until you found the heavy velvet drapes and yanked them open.

There were no more storm clouds in the sky, instead, the bright full moon was high in the sky, and large; it felt unnaturally close.

With less urgency, you opened the curtains the rest of the way, then looked around the room. The door was closed, but you squinted at the shadow on the wall next to it.

You moved, and it moved the other way, then beckoned for you with a crooked finger.

"Please give me some privacy, Shade," you said, trying to push as much confidence as you could into your weak, tired voice.

She shook her head, then beckoned again, still silent, and cracked your door open.

"I'm going to regret this."

Still, she didn't answer.

Sighing deeply, you pulled on the dressing gown and slippers that Rishel had left for you, and followed her out the door.

She didn't manifest in three dimensions as she had at dinner, but instead crept along the wall, occasionally turning back, as though to make sure you were still following, and more than once pressed a shadowy finger to her lips.

Because Shade wouldn't walk down the actual hall, and you weren't sure if she could trigger the traps even if she did, you tried to remember Cornelia's advice, sticking close to the wall to avoid setting anything off. Maybe Shade could set them off, and was the reason the traps had ledges one could sneak by on, or maybe it was just so the victims had a better chance to dangle in terror before the gnashing teeth beneath the floor got them.

With her spidery shadow fingers, Shade beckoned again, then waved towards a pair of tall, arching doors, and waited.

The whole adventure in the mansion had been strange, uncomfortable, and tense, and of course you had been mortally terrified more than once in the day, but those times had come suddenly, and ended just as quick. Staring at the enormous doorway, this was the first time you had the time for real dread to set in, even before anything happened. Whatever was in this room was going to be the end of you.

You tried to tell yourself otherwise, that you had gone through plenty of scary doors and not yet met your doom, that you were going to laugh at yourself once you stepped through and found one more strange misfit, or maybe even the household members out of costume, not actually monsters at all, but none of it worked.

Shade was becoming impatient, her waves toward the door growing quicker, almost frantic, as you breathed deep, trying to control your own panic.

A loud buzz sounded, then Shade was walking toward you, no longer a shadow but a translucent black form. She took your shoulders- she was solid- and pushed you toward the entrance. When you dug in your heels, she just shoved harder, forcing your locked knees to shake and buckle, until you finally took over, walking of your own accord. The doorway was inset and by this point, with Shade fully formed and too strong, there was no direction to run but forward.

You pulled open the doors and found yourself in a ball room. The ceiling was high, there was a low platform straight ahead, and the floor was wide, smooth, and clean.

A collection of dark forms sat rigid near the stage. You hoped they were the group you had already met, at least most of whom seemed to wish you well, but you doubted it.

There was an echoing click, and you turned to see shade holding a large key, which she held up, as though teasing you, then clasped. When she released her fist, the key was gone.

She pointed to the stage and, when you turned to face it, pushed your back, once, firmly in the center, releasing almost immediately, playfully.

The windows were high above you, and you saw no other doorways. You resumed deep breathing through your nose, trying to create an aura of confidence and resignation, rather than the shakiness your hands were displaying as you crossed the room.

When you took the stage, you turned back towards your audience.

The lighting was dramatic, and even at the closer range, you couldn't make out any faces. There was, however, a large form that looked too large and furry to be anyone but Mister Rishel, and another that's face had a subtle glow, like Cynthia's. No other features were distinguishable, and even those two you couldn't be sure of. What you could make out were the slightly raised hands of several figures, as though they were holding up opera glasses.

Your observation ended when the hissing began.

The sound was high above you, but you couldn't make out what enormous beast had sounded off. You looked to Shade, and she gestured at the sides of her face, as though telling you to smile.

Some shorter hisses and the sounded of something feathery shambling back and forth echoed down. A shadow soared past one of the windows, and you knew it was on the inside.

No one had resolve strong enough for that. You broke into a run for the side of the room; you knew you couldn't get out the door but you could maybe, possibly, find cover.

Laughter filled the room, not just from Shade but from a crowd that sounded many times larger than that which sat by the stage. You heard clattering footsteps, and as you dove under a piano, something grabbed your angle, and you shouted, kicking with your other leg as you were dragged out.

Your new keeper lifted you to the feet by the excess fabric of your borrowed nightclothes, then marched you back to the stage, hands tight around your shoulders as you twisted, trying to see your captor, to know if someone you'd befriended had already betrayed you.

There was no more laughter, only the sound of wind whistling and the occasional beating of wings.

It took until you were centered on the stage again before you stopped trying to see who was behind you and instead looked forward.

Before you could take in the sight, you were released and the same footsteps leapt backward.

A bird, its body larger than either of the gargoyles and its wingspan too wide to comprehend, dove toward you, it's bald head lurching back in the last second as it threw its talons forward, taking you by the shoulders and knocking you on your back.

You fought, you scrabbled at its scaled toes with your nails and kicked with your feet and writhed beneath the thing, but it was too heavy to budge. It didn't stop you  from screwing your eyes up and fighting harder, even as your shoulders were driven further into the floor below. It was only when you struggled to lift your arms that you finally began to give up and met the eyes of the beast.

big ol bird

I went back on forth on whether parts of this were too tame or too not, but I think I like it. going into super gory detail on the character's injuries, for example, doesn't really fit this halloween romp in my eyes. At least I know where I’ll be starting the final chapter tomorrow evening.

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