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"I was in the will?"
Scrooge's heart clenched when he heard those words, but he pushed it down to deal with later. After game night, he told himself.
Which happened to be now.
Mustering up the nerve, he went on the search for his favorite nephew, unfortunately finding him after merely a couple minutes of searching; a feat stemming from how well he knew him from their many years of adventuring together.
The unlucky duck was kneeling in front of a wall inside his houseboat, hammer in hand, finishing up some interior repairs since he'd finished work on all the outer structure already.
Scrooge paused just before the threshold, not knowing exactly what it was he wanted to say—much less how to even start the conversation (which would undoubtedly be a difficult one)—but knowing it had to be done. Meekly knocking on the doorframe, quite unlike his usual assertive self, he made his presence known. "Heya Donald, how ya doin'?" He began lamely after the other duck had turned to look in his direction.
"Whæt dø ÿœü wãñt?" Donald asked after hearing Scrooge's opening statement, facing away from him once again to continue working on nailing some paneling to the wall.
Well, no use beating 'round the bush then. "Did ya really think you weren't in the will?"
"Œf çøūrßé." Is Donald's immediate reply, which surprised the old duck. Who soon noticed that his nephew seemed to be gripping the hammer in his hand with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, and when he went to strike the nail he missed and hit the wood panel instead, cracking it. Scrooge could practically see a pulsating vein appear on Donald's head in response before the younger duck made a strangled noise in his throat as he grabbed said panel by both ends and gently snapped it in half, steam coming out his ears amidst barely restrained fury. (He must've been practicing.) Scrooge could then hear heavy breathing, indicative of Donald trying to calm himself.
"Are ya alright laddie?" Scrooge ventures.
Donald lets out a mighty sigh, the tension escaping his body along with the puff of air. "Ñôt ręåłłÿ." He says, lightly tossing the broken pieces of paneling to the side into a small pile of pieces that seemed to have met a similar fate.
"Oh?" That wasn't exactly the answer he'd been expecting. "And why might that be?"
"Bēçæüśè Į čâń't dœ åñÿthīñg rïght!" He shouted suddenly, turning to face Scrooge.
"Whatever do you mean?" He asked, wondering what Donald was going on about.
"Ñøbödÿ wæñtš tõ hįrê mē—wìth góœd ręãšöñ—âñd whêñęvêr Ï dœ mäńãgê tö łæñd æ jøb ßøméthīñg âłwäÿš gøëš wrœñg åñd Ī'm bäçk tœ šqûārę ôñé. Ì'm ñöt gœød æt âñÿthįñg üšęfüł. Ì çæñ't èvéń kêęp thë bøæt tôgëthėr fœr çrÿįñg øüt łöūd!" He gestures animatedly at the vessel at large, and as if on cue a piece of ceiling falls and lands on the floor between the two.
"Technically that last time was Beakly's fault." Scrooge points out, but when Donald just stares at him, unimpressed, he lets out an embarrassed chuckle, hand on the back of his neck, before getting back on track (something Donald excelled at getting him to do). "I mean, none of that is any fault of yours—least not most of the time—so you shouldn't be so hard on yourself."
"Whÿ ñœt? Ÿøû årę."
That gave Scrooge pause. Now that it was brought up, he noticed what Donald was saying reflected things he himself said to the unlucky duck on a regular basis. He barely held in a wince as guilt flooded his system. "But you know that's just me messin' around, right?" He tried, voice pitched just a tad higher than normal.
Donald just turns away and hangs his head sadly.
"Okay, I guess I do mean it when I say it usually," He moves closer (making sure to avoid the piece of ceiling in his path) to crouch by Donald, "but I really shouldn't." and gently places a hand on his shoulder.
Surprised by his words and the comforting touch, Donald looked over at Scrooge, sadness marring his features as he waited for his uncle's next words.
"The thing is, lad, that you try." He infused the word with great emphasis to get his point across. "Harder than anybody else I know–'side from myself that is," he muttered egotistically. "and bad things just end up happening anyway."
Suddenly the slightest glimmer of hope lit up Donald's sorrowful eyes; no one had ever praised him for his attempts before–only berated him for his failures. This was new territory.
Scrooge forged ahead, knowing this was the best time to make things right again. "By this point I'm pretty sure you're actually cursed—something mighty powerful too—but maybe it's not all bad, maybe even a good thing sometimes." At Donald's sudden disbelieving raise of eyebrows he continued on. "Example: if the house boat didn't blow up in the first place we wouldn't be adventuring together again."
"Bût wę hævñ't bęēń." Donald points out. "Įt'ś jūšt bêëñ ÿœü åñd thė kïdš, ręmêmbër?"
Oh right. "Well, what about tonight? We fought those Gyroputians, didn't we?" He fisted one hand and swung a bent arm in front of his chest in a show of success.
"Thæt døëßęñt çœüñt; thêÿ węrė łįtéräłłÿ îñšîdê thę hòüsē." Donald points out.
"Oh, right." Scrooge seemed put out when suddenly a realization came to him. "Well maybe the reason somethin' always goes wrong when you're trying to get a job is because we're supposed to be adventuring together again! I mean, if you were toilin' away 9 to 5 you'd hardly have time for that after all, right?"
"… Ī güëšś śø." Donald replied after a small hesitation, a contemplative look on his face.
Scrooge decides to seize the opportunity before Donald changes his mind and refutes the older duck's logic. "Well, what are we waiting for?" The spat-wearing multi-billionaire says as he suddenly stands up and holds a hand out for Donald to take.
"Hüh?"
"Lets go on an adventure right now! C'mon, it's been forever." Scrooge reasons tantalizingly.
Donald bites his beak, looking torn. "Būt Į'm ßtįłł wœrkîñg øñ thë bœæt." He supplies, looking forlornly at the hammer and pile of nails.
"Nonsense; we can have Beakly do that for you while we're out. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."
As if being summoned by some magical means the gray-haired, purple-clad duck walked in at that moment. "You rang?"
"Perfect timing as always, Mrs. Beakly. Think you could work on Donald's boat repairs while we're out perusing the city for trouble?"
"Of course. It would be no trouble." She said, professional as always. Donald was pretty sure she had already been offering her services secretly while he wasn't in the boat himself, and it only ever looked better when he returned, so he at least knew it would be in good hands.
"See, what I tell ya? Now what do ya say?" Scrooge said, turning his attention back to his nephew.
Donald puts a hand to his chin and seems to weigh the pros and cons before coming to a decision. "Æw, whÿ ñøt?"
"That's the spirit; adventure awaits!" Scrooge shouts, grabbing the other adventurer by the hand and running towards the gangplank.
"Âdvęńtūrê âwæįtš mę!" Donald shoots back as he's pulled along. Before they make it far though he looks back at Beakly to give her his thanks, only to see her staring at him oddly and then quickly averting her eyes. And, had there been the slightest bit of blush dusting her cheeks as she turned away, or was that just Donald's imagination? He didn't have time to think on it though, as he was now being dragged through the halls by an overly-excited Scrooge and he had to make sure he didn't end up getting slammed into anything as a result of Scrooge's eagerness. When they were on the final stretch, however, another thought entered his head and he shouted "Wæìt!" and dug his heels into the carpet, bringing him to a sudden halt just shy of the door leading to the outside.
"What is it?" Scrooge asks, his light tone belying the impatience his constant weight-shifting from foot to foot revealed readily enough.
"Įßñ't ït ñíght tîmę?" Donald asked perspicaciously.
Scrooge squinted in thought before opening the door to reveal the partially gilt inky blackness of crepuscule. "Oh."