Chapter Text
“FOWL is gone.”
“FOWL is gone.”
Steelbeak says it again, staring at himself in the broken mirror. “FOWL is… is gone.”
The rooster grips the sink that he’s propped the mirror against, barely noticing the dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t slept in nearly a week, ever since Clan McDuck defeated the group he works for, FOWL.
Well, used to work for.
It was Black Heron who first got him out of the jail where he’d been held for illegal fighting. She’d given him a new place to call home, a new beak to replace his damaged one, and a new purpose in life. Granted, she hadn’t been the nicest person to work with, but he had owed her. He’d done his job, mostly happily, even enjoying more than a few fights in the process.
He chuckles, momentarily recalling his fight against the purple weirdo in St. Canard. They’d held their own against him, nearly as well as the big duck from the arcade had, but he’d won all the same.
Now, with Black Heron gone, he should feel happy, but FOWL is gone too- the only place that hadn’t made him feel completely worthless- and he doesn’t know what to do.
Thankfully, he’s found a new place to stay while he gets back on his feet. It’s small, secluded, private, with plenty of natural light-
Oh, who is he kidding. It’s a shed. He’s found a shed.
Steelbeak sighs, turning away, and immediately bumps into the tower of cardboard boxes that form a barrier between the mirror/sink and the rest of his shed. They start to topple, and he doesn’t make a move to stop it. It’s easier, he’s found, to just re-stack them.
Once he turns the corner into his eating/sleeping part of the area, the rooster lets out a curse. The boxes have fallen onto the rotting cabinet that holds his stolen breakfast and knocked the apple to the floor, along with the stale loaf of bread and the jug of probably-spoiled milk- okay, maybe that one’s not so bad a loss, he thinks as he re-stacks.
He picks up the apple, examining it, then dusts it off against his shirt. He’s sadly discarded his wonderfully flattering suits in favor of a more low-key pair of cargo pants and a gray t-shirt. He hates it, but has to admit that the several pockets are a nice advantage.
Once Steelbeak finishes the apple, he eyes the bread. A solitary rat- his only visitor larger than a worm- has already ventured out of its numerous hiding places. Steelbeak leans down, retrieving the loaf, then tears it in two and tosses a chunk to the rat.
“If only FOWL could see me now,” he tells it. “Sharing, and with a rat too.” Boxes back up, he sits down on the cabinet, and the two eat in silence. Eventually, Steelbeak and the rat finish the breakfast. “Hey, don’t you have somewhere to be? Some little ratty carnival or something?” He pauses, imagining the ratty carnival. Would it be both ratty and filled with rats? Did the rats go there on the weekends or during the summer, like kids did at Funzo’s? Were there little rat-sized merry-go-rounds and cotton candy booths and-
He shakes his head. Focus, he tells himself. You’re having a very important conversation with a rat.
Glancing down, he sees the rat, still there. “No ratty carnival?” Steelbeak asks, chuckling. “What about an arcade? Any arcades?”
The rat squeaks, tilting its head.
“No arcades, huh?” Steelbeak scratches his head thoughtfully. “Well, I got nothing.”
The rat squeaks again, then abruptly turns and scurries back into the shadows. Steelbeak watches it go. “Yeah, get outta here, scruffy,” he says, making a halfhearted shooing motion.
Stupid emotions. Stupid rat.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, he berates himself, realizing too late that he’d given the last of the food to the rat. As if in agreement, his stomach rumbles. Then it rumbles again, louder, until Steelbeak recognizes the sound as thunder and not hunger. Food will have to wait, because thunder means rain and rain means nobody goes outside, and thatmeans the store people are more likely to notice theft, and report him to the police. From there, it would be the McDucks, and there was no escaping or beating the McDucks for long. Bradford’s defeat had shown him that.
He retrieves the dented bucket from the hook by the door and shoves it into place under the hole in the roof. He punches his lumpy, smelly mattress into a more comfortable shape, and lies down to wait out the rain.
Fethry hums a happy hum as he browses the cereal aisle. “Lucky Hexes, Sailor Snap, Pop Rice- ah!!” He hops slightly in place as he finds a box. “Spice Squares!!” Delighted, the duck pulls the box from the shelf, adding it to the shopping basket tucked in the crook of his elbow, then stares at the boring-looking yellow box in front of him. “Let’s see, Don wanted me to pick up some Small Donuts…”
He abruptly reaches for the slightly friendlier-looking box beside it. “Well, I think the little Donalds will like these Small Honey Donuts instead,” he decides. “Money-O’s for Uncle Scrooge, some Small Donuts for Mrs Beakley, Lucky Wands for Gladdy- not to be confused with the more popular but ultimately not as satisfying Lucky Hexes,” he adds under his breath, eyeing the Lucky Hexes box. “A box of Darkwing Duck Delights, complete with hidden toy, for Launchpad aaaaand Plenty of Planes for Dells!” With a whoop, Fethry snags the box depicting the group of happy, bright red airplanes, dropping it into his now-full basket. “Done! One shopping trip for National Cereal Day for the entire household!”
Fethry pays for the several boxes and heads for the door. To his surprise, the blue sky he’d seen earlier has been taken over by steely gray clouds, which have opened and are now spilling their rain over Duckburg. “Huh,” he says, opening his small umbrella, “April showers came early this year! It’s only March!”
Resuming his earlier hum, Fethry trots out into the rain, careful not to get the cardboard boxes wet. “Taxi?” He calls out, peering down the street. “Taxi- hey, over here, taxi!”
When the few taxis fail to even slow down, Fethry doesn’t allow himself to become discouraged. He just shrugs and begins walking. “Oh well,” he tells himself, “I’m sure the passengers need taxis more than me. Besides, this way I’m getting exercise!”
By the time Fethry gets to the old Reddy house, he’s soaked. The cereal is dry, thanks to some strategic positioning, but if this keeps up much longer he’s going to catch a cold. He decides to find shelter to wait out the rain, and soon spies a shed near the tree line of the Reddy property. “Oh hello,” Fethry says aloud, scurrying towards the ramshackle building. “How convenient!”
The door’s tough to open, but after a bit of shoving Fethry opens it enough to slip inside. “Hello?” Fethry calls out, blinking in the low light. He hears a quick scuffle, then nothing except the rapid plink-plink-plink of rainwater falling into a metal bucket. He hesitates, then moves further inside. “Mx. Reddy? I’m sorry for entering without permission!”
No answer. Fethry forges on. “It’s raining outside, and I just need a place to wait out the storm. It’s National Cereal Day, you know, and I don't want my family’s cereal to get wet! I promise I won’t… steal anything…”
His voice trails off as he looks around the shed. Aside from the bucket, there’s an uncomfortable-looking mattress and a cabinet that looks like it’s gonna fall apart any second. Behind those is a towering stack of cardboard boxes, swaying slightly. There’s nothing to steal, even if Fethry had wanted to.
The shed seems to be empty, so Fethry frowns and sits down on the floor with his back against the cabinet. “Well, this isn’t very cozy! You know, if I got Donald and Della and Gladstone and the little Donalds to help, we could really fix this place up for Mx. Reddy!” He pulls a bundle of yarn from under his hat and unravels some, spiraling it under and around his fingers. Before long, he’s lost in the softness and colors of the yarn, and has begun humming again. He doesn’t even notice the large shadow creeping up behind him.