Chapter Text
“I’m pregnant.”
“What?” Scrooge jerked his head. Beaded sweat rolled rounds on his face; starting at the crown, ending at the top of his beak. “What do ye’ mean pregnant? We jes’ finished.”
“I mean.” She scowled. It was difficult to wiggle in a confined space. “This time is different. It feels different,” she clarified in a sharp hiss. Heavy boots cracked harshly on the boards.
“Find them!” Foghorn screeched, “Damn it, I want one or the other or both – alive .” The singular word was spat as if it were venom.
“Ae donnae think that’s scientific.” Scrooge drawled. Shimmying free with a sigh, he ignored the sharp pang of loss at being in the open. “And if ye’ are, which Ae doubt, do ye’ want it?”
“Children are messy.” She reached for her pants sitting at her ankles. A painful measure it was when cramped below deck where a pirate crew had directed all of their angered frustrations on you above. “And they’re loud. And they’re nitpicky. And they’re greedy.”
Scrooge shot her a look.
“You know what I mean.” She pinched the skin between her eyes, “Children are difficult, Scroogey, and you know how I feel about domestic.”
“Of course.”
“And we’d have to set up shop.”
“Naturally.”
“And think of the costs. Truly, calculate them down to the penny.”
“Trust me, Ae ‘ave.” A wry grin teased her thoughtlessness, “Ae’m Scrooge McDuck. Ae consider all possibilities, no matter the impossibility.”
“Impossibility?” She smirked, cocking her head for added mockery. “Children are not impossible.” She rolled on her side, giving him room behind her. Ahead was a sliver of light revealing multiple pairs of boots running across deck; they planned accordingly.
“How ‘boot we hold this discussion for later?” Scrooge whispered. “But if we’re on the topic of wee bairns,” he added with a hint of humor in his voice, “Ae’d like Prudence for a girl.”
Goldie choked on a laugh. “Prudence?” He imagined disgust had graced her unruly features. “No daughter of mine is going to be named Prudence . She’s no old maid.”
“Oh? And ye’ve thought extensively on it?”
“Ha! You wish.” She scoffed. “If I were to have a son, he’d be named Sterling. A good, strapping, dashing name, and fortunately, he’ll inherit my looks.”
“And Prudence will inherit my smarts.” Scrooge bit back harshly. “It’s a good, lovely, and inspirational name. Prudent. Wise. Strong. Immeasurable.”
“Oh will you stop? Sterling is a handsome name for a handsome boy. You’d want to scuttle Prudence off in your old, dusty manor.”
“And ye’d spoil Sterling rotten, ye -,”
“Ahem.”
The floorboards were ripped off with two meaty, hairy, ring dressed hands. Their conversation cut short, they glanced up. Foghorn glared down.
“Found ye.” His marble eye reflected his poorly timed triumph, “Tie ‘em both up, separately, but knowin’ these two, they probably like it.”
“Wait,” Scrooge said. “Before ye’ send us to our dooms, can Ae ask ye’ a single question.”
Foghorn glared. “Just the one, and then, yer walkin’ de plank!”
“Fair.” Scrooge nodded briskly. “Answer me this.” He hid a smirk behind his straight beak, “Would ye’ name yer daughter Prudence?”
“Are you serious?” Fury bled red in her forest green blaze.
Foghorn chuckled, “Named me girl Constance! A hearty name for a hearty lass.”
Scrooge smirked. “Thank ye, that’s all Ae needed ta’ know.”
“So, can we – you know, get along with this?”
“Oh, of course, of course. Tie us up, boys.”
Goldie spat fire. “You’re an asshole.”
“Prudence it is.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Please, keep these two apart.” Foghorn warned.