Darkwing Duck: The Webfoot Weavings
"The Bride Wore Black"

Act I

Morgana McCawber was a sorceress, but her family was just like anyone else's. Sure, not everyone else had parents who were hunted by village people as monsters, and most people's family pet had only one head, not two, but that didn't mean that they didn't meddle, just like most other families. Moloculo, Morgana's father, wouldn't let up about how she shouldn't "settle" for that Normal, Darkwing Duck, when she could have her pick of Monsters. And her Aunt Nasty wasn't any better. She was stuck in the old days, when young ladies got married and then, if their husbands weren't sorcerors, killed their spouses and then pursued their careers as witches. Morgana's aunt had been unable to believe that she had already advanced this far in her magic abilities before she had been married.

"I was married by the time I was half your age," she said to Morgana, who was sitting at her vanity mirror, bored stiff of the same old speech. Morgana kept a polite expression on her face, but she was so tense that her fingernails were digging into the wood of her dresser. "A girl your age shouldn't be--"

"I know, I know," said Morgana impatiently. "But the only man I want to marry is Darkwing, and you and Father won't let me!"

This was Morgana's usual excuse, and it was only half true. Darkwing was the only man she wanted, but honestly, Morgana had no desire to be married. "Settling down," they called it. No more adventure, no more excitement, no more spontaneity. Morgana didn't want to settle. She wanted to keep moving for the rest of her life.

"Well, sweetie, I discussed it with your father, and he says he's willing to let you marry that Normal if it'll make you happy!" said her aunt. "And, you don't have to kill him, either! Although, really, I'm sure you'd enjoy it if you tried..."

Morgana sighed. There went her last excuse... It was time to drop the facade, come right out and say it. "I just don't want to get married," she said, apologetic but firm.

Nasty wasn't fazed. "I don't think you know what you want, sweetbread. Why don't you just bring it up with Darkwing, and see what he thinks of the whole thing?"

Exhausted with the whole affair, Morgana sighed. "Alright, I'll discuss it with him. But he feels the same way as me, I'm warning you!" she said, thinking of Darkwing. Of course he wouldn't want to get married, she thought. Marriage was no more his style than it was hers. But, well... It couldn't hurt to ask, anyway. It wasn't like he'd say yes...

Beth Webfoot was an odd one, but Drake had taken something of a liking to her anyway. At the moment, she was at his house cleaning the kitchen sink. "You don't have to do that, you know, Beth," he said as she scrubbed the metal sides of the sink.

"Nah, it's okay, Drake. I have absolutely nothing else to do, so I figured, why not go clean the Mallards' house?" she said, holding the sponge in her rubber-gloved hands.

"Well, you could clean your own house," he said. It occured to him that Beth spent an extraordinary amount of time at the Mallard residence, especially considering that she quit her job babysitting Gosalyn.

"Everything there's clean already," she said as she leaned over the side of the sink.

"Of course," said Drake. He was in a pretty good mood that day due to anticipation of an upcoming date with Morgana McCawber. Humming a little, he suddenly wondered if Beth still had a crush on him. She had been pretty enamored with him before, but in the past few weeks, she'd been spending large amounts of time with Launchpad. That was good, Drake realized, since Launchpad had just as much of a crush on her as she did on Drake. But still, somehow, deep down inside, he kind of hoped that she still liked him.

"Gee, Drake, you sure sound happy this afternoon," said Beth. "What's happened to make you so perky?"

"Oh, I've got a, sort of an appointment tonight," he said, not wishing to hurt her feelings if she was still hung up on him. "I'll be going to dinner with Morgana to discuss... business," he said, thinking this was a satisfactory answer. Immediately, however, he realized that she had never heard anything about Morgana. She froze, confused, with a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach then opened her mouth and took a breath to say something. Drake, knowing what her question would be, cut her off with, "I better go get ready." He left the room quickly and locked himself in the bathroom.

Beth, somewhat perplexed, walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Launchpad and Gosalyn were watching TV. "Uh, guys?" she said, standing behind the couch. They turned around.

"Hi, Beth!" said Launchpad cheerfully, always happy to see her.

"Hi," said Gosalyn, and stole Launchpad's popcorn while his back was turned.

"Hi... I was just wondering something. Who's Morgana?" she said, trying to keep the right tone of curiosity and good humour in her voice, as opposed to what she was really feeling: curiosity and a large amount of jealousy.

Gosalyn and Launchpad gave each other an "Uh-oh," look out of the corner of their eyes. "She's, uh... DW's sister-in-law?" suggested Launchpad.

"Try again, Launchpad," said Beth. Launchpad was a terrible liar. Of course, it helped that Beth knew that Drake didn't have a sister-in-law.

"I know! Morgana's my old, ugly aunt that Dad can't stand!" said Gosalyn, not the least bit convincingly.

"Come on, you guys. I really want to know this. It won't bother me or anything," said Beth, smiling.

Gosalyn paused for a moment, and looked at Launchpad. He shrugged. Gosalyn looked at Beth, who obviously wouldn't accept anything but the truth, and said, "Morgana is sorta Dad's girlfriend. He's been seeing her for a while now- way before he met you. I know I shoulda told you sooner, but--"

Beth cut her off, still wearing the same smile, and said in a too-casual tone: "Oh! Well, if I'd known he had a girlfriend, I'd never have fallen for him." Then she turned around and left, shutting the door hard behind her.

"Whew," said Launchpad. "I was afraid she was gonna be upset!"

Morgana and Darkwing's dates were always at the same place: A charmed little graveyard with lots of atmosphere, where the food was just right- for Morgana's taste, anyway.

"You're not touching your Eel Eye Souffle, Dark darling! Is something wrong?" asked Morgana.

"Huh?" said Darkwing, breaking out of the sort of trance he had fallen into while gazing at Morgana from across the table. "No, no, nothing's wrong, Morgue, I just, ah, don't have much of an appetite tonight," said Darkwing. Past experience had taught him that, when it came to Morgana's food, lying was a lot safer.

"Really? Why not?" she asked curtly. There was an edge to her voice that made him nervous, one that he had heard all too many times. "You're not sick, are you? Because if that's the case, I can easily whip up a potion that can fix you up in no time!" She looked at him intensely, almost daring him to lie.

More distressed over the prospect of drinking one of Morgana's potions than over fighting with her, Darkwing pondered his dilemma, then decided to come clean. "Well, actually, Morgue, I just don't really relish the idea of eating food that can eat me back. It's nothing personal, sweetie," he said, trying his best to be tactful. She didn't look pleased at first, and Darkwing began to quietly look for a hiding place. But then, she shut her eyes and accepted his explanation without an argument. She seemed like she was really trying, but she did it. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled tensely at him. He smiled back, admiring the shine of her eyes in the moonlight. Morgana was, without a doubt, one of the loveliest women Darkwing had ever laid eyes on, and he considered himself incredibly lucky to be dating her. She was so beautiful when she smiled, too!

But there was something odd about her smile tonight; it was as if she was hiding something, or trying to gain the courage to do something. "Well, I guess it is your choice."

Looking slightly smug, Darkwing said, "It certainly is. You know something, Morgue, I don't think we've had an evening like this in quite some time now. Normally when we go out, you get so touchy, and then we start fighting-"

Morgana lit up again immediately. "I what! Touchy! The only reason I get 'touchy' is because you keep saying such stupid things!"

"HEY! I never say stupid things! You just hear them wrong, and then I get fried!" He realized then that he'd gone too far. Morgana was scowling at him, and her eyes were red. He backtracked quickly. "I certainly said something stupid just then, didn't I?"

To his surprise, she calmed down a lot. "Well- maybe I am a... little bit 'touchy'," she said. They both smiled hesitantly. Now was the moment, Darkwing decided, to kiss and make up. He leaned torwards her, and just then the waiter tapped on his shoulder.

"Agh!" he said, and jumped. The waiters at the graveyard always unnerved him, especially because a large majority of them were skeletal, and all of them seemed to be, well, dead. (Morgana had informed him that they preferred the term "Living Impaired".)

"Is there something wrong with your Eel Eye Souffle, sir? Should we freshen it up for you?" said the waiter in a hollow, creaky voice.

"No thank you," growled Darkwing through gritted teeth. "It's just fine."

"Well, it's just that we noticed you hadn't been eating it, and--"

"I said it's fine! Understand that! You can go now! Begone!" snapped Darkwing.

The waiter sniffed. "Well then! If you're going to be haughty about it..." With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, his bones rattling dryly.

"Now, then, where were we?" said Darkwing cooly, turning back to Morgana. She sighed audibly and turned her head. Darkwing frowned-- this wasn't like her at all. If something was bothering Morgana, she usually came right out and said what it was. "What's wrong, Morgue?"

"Oh, Dark, I was just thinking that if you don't like my style of cooking, how would we get along for the rest of our lives?" she said, sadly.

'For the rest of our-'? That sounded like... "Uh, what do you mean, Morgana?" said Darkwing, getting a little nervous. He sat back into his seat.

"Well," began Morgana cautiously, more than a bit nervous herself, "I mean, if we were to... That is, don't you ever think about marriage, Dark?"

Darkwing went into a violent coughing fit. "M-m-marriage?" he managed to choke out.

"Well, yes," she said irritably. "After all, when two people love each other, sometimes they get married, don't they? Is it such a strange concept!"

"No, no, not at all, but--"

"But what?"

"But... I'msorryMorganabutI'mjustnotthemarryingtypeifyouknowwhatImean!" He gulped, watching her for a reaction.

She was silent. Then: "Do you love me, Dark?" She knew that a question like this jeapordized their whole relationship, but suddenly she just had to know.

Darkwing, nervous and worried to begin with, made the situation worse and began to stutter terribly. "W-well, I-I-I mean, l-l-lo-- That's a pretty long t-term commitment and--"

"Never mind, Darkwing. You just answered my question," she said coldly, and stood up from the table.

"Wait- Morgue--" said Darkwing in a last ditch attempt to explain himself. She was leaving, and if she left now, like this, he might never see her again.

"OH, GO HOME!" she yelled angrily, her eyes glowing bright red. She turned and zapped him, hard, booting him into the stratosphere. Then she left, muttering, "Dark, you idiot."

"Morgana, don't worry. There are other men out there! Better suited for you that that, certainly!" said Aunt Nasty a few hours later.

"NO! If I marry anyone, it'll be Darkwing!" said Morgana stubbornly. She didn't need anyone telling her what to do when it came to relationships. Her life was her own. If she wanted to marry Darkwing, she was going to marry Darkwing! She never stopped to wonder when she'd actually started wanting to get married.

"Alright then, if you're really that serious."

"I am!"

"No female in the McCawber line has ever needed help in ensnaring a man, but a little friendly advice never hurt. Keep this in mind: If he won't willingly consent to marriage, there are... other methods."

"Other methods? What do you mean?"

"Foof bombs, dear."

"Foof bombs- of course!" said Morgana. She had forgotten about them, it had been so long ago that she'd recieved them. The last time that Morgana had seen Magica DeSpell, her half-aunt (twice removed) had brought a little gift: a handful of Foof bombs, her most effective weapon against the Duckburg miser Scrooge McDuck. They stunned the victim motionless for a short period of time, during which any number of spells could be administered. Once the victim was comatose, a slave-spell could be administered, making the effects more permanent. (Behind Magica's back, there were a number of snide comments along the lines that the Foof bombs were the only form of magic that Magica could work right.)

"Zombie lipstick... No, that's too permanent," said Morgana as she searched through the slave spells in her repertoire. "Poison apple, too thorough... Ah! Here's a good one: the Sleep of Ages! 'The victim will respond to stimuli as though he were conscious, but will do nothing other than your will,'" she read aloud to herself. "And it can be removed with a verbal command! Perfect! Darkwing will yet be mine!"