First fanfic about an American-owned setting. Yay?
Inspired by the chapter of The Life and Times of $crooge McDuck called "The Empire-Builder From Calisota" by Don Rosa and the Sunday comic strip continuity "The Case of the Vanishing Coats" by Floyd Gottfredson, two universes that were never intended to intersect. However, the work of both authors has had an enormous impact on how people view the character of Donald Duck- myself especially- so I couldn't resist creating a cross over when I felt the urge to write a story exploring Donald and Mickey's first encounter.
Most days of the year, Duckburg was considered a pleasant place, a sunny habor where the wind carried the scent of the Pacific over the Edwardian rooftops that dotted pretty coastal areas and inward to the city's industry-crowded heart. A place the likes of which both the image conscious elite and the common folk could be proud to dwell in.
Most days.
Today, a heavy curtain of rain clouds hovered statically over the towering office buildings, seemingly imparting an unhappy malaise into the architecture itself. The rows of smokestacks that adorned the city's factories appeared to the feed the storm with their ever rising columns of black smoke, and even the older structures took on an oppressive bent in the growing gloom. The still air did nothing to cure the humidity clinging to Duckburg's citizens as they went about their business in the rain-washed streets, much to their aggravation.
Today, one particularly aggravated individual was making his way home from the market with a heavy load of groceries in his arms, growling his dissatisfaction with every step. The fact that it was no longer raining and thus the brown paper bags he struggled to carry were in no danger of getting wet was a small comfort. He would have to walk a long ways before he was close enough to his destination that he could hail a taxi to cover the rest of the distance- he simply didn't have enough money for cab fare, not for that long a ride anyway. That meant slogging along through the muddy streets for what felt like an eternity, all the while risking getting caught in the downpour if it did start raining again. That was just his luck, being short on cash today.
For Donald Duck, everyday of the year seemed to be shadowed by rain clouds, some more literal than others. The young duck grumbled in annoyance, shifting the bags in his arms so he could see over them and tell where he was going. His short stature just made the task more difficult.
Every day seemed to throw another challenge in his face, another reminder of just how tough a person's luck could really be. Donald was always stuck with all the bad luck. Right now he would probably be riding his grandmother's tractor home instead of walking if he hadn't broken the contraption last week in his first attempt at learning how to drive it. What's more, he might have had cab fare for the full trip if he didn't promise to pay for some of the expenses of fixing the tractor. Donald could never catch a break; that it just had to rain the day he went to town to get groceries was completely typical.
The clouds were not so thick as to make it too dark to see. Indeed, just above the horizon the overcast sky parted slightly to allow beams of sun light to glance down on the city. As Donald trudged through a deep puddle that made him leery of dropping his bags, a shadow fell over him, and he stopped walking to glare for a moment in the direction of it came from. It was an all too familiar sight.
Far away and high above most of the surrounding buildings, a single enormous structure crowned the top of tall Killmotor Hill. It was largely featureless, more so from were Donald stood as the sun glowed behind it. The concrete mass resembled nothing so much as a giant block from a child's toy chest, and as far as Donald cared that was all it was. A tall, golden dollar sign graced the front of the nameless structure, serving to remind the city of who had created it. For years this edifice had dominated Duckburg's skyline, casting it's broad shadow over one generation after another as the once tiny settlement grew beneath it. All who dwelled there knew of it, and of the one responsible for its construction. How could they not? For this building was the headquarters of the most powerful business man in the world, the person who made the city what it was now, Duckburg's first citizen...
"Uncle Scrooge!" spat Donald as he continued to glare at the hilltop fortress his estranged relative called home.
With a huff he jerked away from the sight of Killmotor Hill and trudged along towards the road, refusing to turn his head again until his uncle's residence was far behind. The last thing Donald needed today, as his ignominious financial situation was once again being hammered into his brain, was another reminder of how much better off the old tyrant was.
It was vastly unfair, Donald thought to himself.
'Me an' Grandma are out here struggling just to scrape by while he sits up in his castle actin' like we don't exist!'
While the Duck family homestead had once been the most prosperous farmland in the state, things had changed after the Depression. They'd had to sell off a lot of live stock they couldn't afford to take care of anymore, and in the years since had yet to recoup their losses with the animals they did have. Fresh milk and eggs didn't sell like it used to around here, too many people preferred the cheaper variety that stocked their markets and grocery stores. Coot family corn still sold well, as the genuine article was only to be found locally and none in Duckburg would pick another brand of corn over their home's traditional crop. Unfortunately a series of bad harvests had reduced this normally lucrative source of income to a trickle, placing his grandmother's farm in hard straits. It was really a terrible fall from the splendor of former days, brought on in part by the march of urban development. When more settlers began arriving in their county, Grandma Duck sold much of her land to accommodate them, only for a forest of concrete and steel to sprout up where corn once grew. What made it all so galling to Donald, however, was the fact that all of that land which once belonged to his grandmother now belonged to Scrooge.
Donald wondered at what gross miscalculation the fates could have made to turn over the city's destiny from the humble Duck family into the hands of his megalomaniacal uncle. In all the time he had lived on his grandma's farm, Donald couldn't recall a single instance of the stingy old tightwad sparing them financial assistance- or any acknowledgment at all- even during the worst of times, despite building his empire on the same soil Grandma Duck was generous enough to part with.
Dragging his feet through the mud, grocery bags in hand, it was understandable that Donald let out another growl when he caught sight of a sign loudly advertising McDUCK TIRES on the side of the street.
Wherever he went, no matter where he looked, his eyes were greeted by some obnoxious reminder of his uncle's success. All the while Donald himself was bogged down with miserable fortune and failure, forced to walk through the city that Scrooge built, unable to escape that perpetual rain cloud only he could see.
Envy of the tycoon's wealth, resentment for being ignored all these years, mounting distress for his own pitiful situation; these and other emotions swirled in Donald's heart as he contemplated the reality he woke up to every morning.
Most of all he felt anger. Burning, blood boiling anger.
For Donald that was one thing that was always close at hand.
His feat were practically coated in filth when he finally decided he was close enough to the farm to hail a cab. Setting the groceries down, he stepped out to the edge of the road, raising a hand to get the attention of an approaching driver.
"Yoohoo! Hay!" he called in his nasally voice "Tax! Over here- WAK!"
The vehicle that was not a cab sped past, splashing a wave of rain water over the pedestrian duck, soaking him to the bone.
Mercifully the bags were unharmed.