Despite the summary, this story is more of a physical dialogue, respectively exhange of experience, between two heroes.

Alas, if you're looking for grand-standing maneouvers and action scenes, you'll be highly disappointed. What originally started out as a heated battle of the swiftest, turned into a kind-of character study. Still I hope, you like this little excursion of one of his greatest influences into the Masked Mallard's hometown. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Drake Mallard/Darkwing Duck and all other characters are Disney. Seriously, what isn't Disney, that's not Google? Just..no rights, no profits.

Summary: What do you do, if one of your idols drops in to give some well-meant advice?

Rating: PG

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Viewing out

1. Hello there

„And that's a wrap! Hah, you didn't think you could get away with cleaning out Quacktier's Crystal Château, you crooked criminals!" bellowed Darkwing Duck triumphantly.

He tugged at the cord slung around the four burglars, who groaned dejectedly. The sound of sirens caught the hero's attention, and he hurried to tie the rope around the next best telephone pole.

„Well, it appears, St. Canard's finest are on the way. Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, there is work waiting for me."

Spoken, catapulted himself onto the next roof and was out of sight before the first patrol car rounded the corner. Watching from a safe distance, he secretely oversaw the thugs' arrest, then puffed himself up and crawed,

„Once again, a crime has been stopped in the attempt! The citizens of St. Canard can sleep peacefully, because Daaaarkwing Du-"

„Are you always this obnoxiusly loud?"

Darkwing flinched at the sound of the voice behind him. A quiet snort, then,

„Good moves, better skills, but you draw waaay too much attention on yourself."

Darkwing swerved around, ready to attack. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure standing on the rooftop over him.

Immediately, the crimefighter growled,

„Hey, who do you think you are, criticising me! Do you have any idea-"

His voice died down and he faltered, when he got a good look at his opposite.

Yellow jump boots, black catsuit, amber utility belt, wide, night-blue cape with blood-red lining and the unmistakable, trade-marked, azure sailor hat.

Phantomias.

For the longest time, the two heroes stood there, staring at each other; Darkwing gaping in incredulous amazement, Phantomias' gaze cool and collected.

In a flash, the Masked Mallard stood before Duckburg's defender, grabbed this one's right hand with both of his and shook it with enough enthusiasm to rattle this one's teeth.

„Oh my gosh, you're Phantomias! What an honour! What brings you here? I know everything about you! You're my number two idol!"

Phantomias, trying to hold on to his hat- and hand, respectively- stuttered,

„Tha-thanks- u-I guess. Who-who's Nu-umber-oOne?"

Darkwing struck an heroic pose.

„James Blunt, of course! Former SHUSH spy and secret agent extraordinaire!" he declared.

Phantomias squinted one eye and nursed his hand.

„Well, I guess I can live with that", he replied dryly. With a final clench he worked the kink out of his fingers, then turned with a determined swerve.

„Let's go", he demanded. Darkwing, slightly taken aback, asked,

„Where to?" There was a dangerous gleam in his eye, when Phantomias replied over his shoulder,

„Your finals."

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Mrrrrr, this is the very first time I've ever written Phantomias in any story. Don't get me wrong, I love him, respectively Donald, to bits, which is probably why I've shied away from writing stories about them, seeing as there are so many great writers who have done so over the past eighty-three years, that I have little to nothing to add to that.

So, consider this more of an hommage to one of the greatest cartoon characters ever.

Thus said, next chaper up and front...