Cross-posted from AO3; I am not currently taking prompts.
Prompt: One character adjusting the other's jewelry/neck tie/etc.
"Boys!" Donald again yelled up the stairs. "We're going to be late!"
"I still don't see why we have to go," Louie grumbled, dragging his feet down to the ground floor. "We spent ten years not going to these stupid award ceremonies. Why start now?"
Huey rushed down the stairs after his brother to elbow him in the side. "You know that's not how it works. Besides, it's not an award ceremony. Uncle Scrooge is getting recognized for—"
"For finding the Armor of Achilles. I know."
"You do realize he'll probably recognize us, too, right?"
Louie huffed a laugh. "And, what, announce our names?" He affected something resembling a Scottish accent. "'I couldnae have found the armor without the help of my nephews: Huey, Bluey, and the green one.'" He dropped the accent and started ticking off on his fingers. "No golden trophy, no bronze plaque, no cash reward. What's the point?"
"The point is that we're there to support our uncle," Donald said, jamming a finger in his nephews chest. "And you are going to be on your best behavior."
"It's not like he's ever supported us before!"
Huey clamped his hand around his brother's beak. "Ok, you need to stop."
"Dewey!" Donald yelled. "Let's go!"
"Coming!" Dewey bounded down the stairs. "I'm ready!"
"You most certainly are not," Donald said, fussing with his clothes. Dewey's jacket was askew, his collar was sticking up, his tie was loose and crooked, his shirt was wrinkled, and the feathers on the top of his head weren't even brushed. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Take me out for ice cream?" Dewey suggested cheekily.
Donald snorted. He licked his hand and tried to smooth down Dewey's head feathers.
"Hey, ew, gross!" he protested.
"Well, you should have brushed your feathers," Donald said. "Now get in the car."
Donald followed the boys outside, hoping that these events had gotten more interesting in the last decade.
Donald climbed into the driver's seat and checked the boys in the rear-view mirror to make sure they had their seatbelts on.
And, once again, Dewey's jacket was askew, his collar was sticking up, his tie was loose and crooked, his shirt was wrinkled, and the feathers on the top of his head didn't look any better than they had when he'd come downstairs.
Donald sighed, turned over the engine, and pulled out of the driveway.