A/N: This is an on-going story, as far as I can tell. I got the title from the Robert Chamber's book 'The King in Yellow',
a good book with a creepy feel to it (a book which inspired the famous H.P. Lovecraft).
Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Goofy, and others are copyright Disney, thank you very much.
The King in Ink
(By TokenKneecaps)
"oooooh!!! Of all the horrible, rotten things you could do Mickey!"
He followed her out of the kitchen into the party, "Calm down Min, it was only a teensy bit of money…"
She whirled full-circle to his face, "Only a teensy…? I'll have you know that 'teensy bit of money' was my grandmother's which she gave to me on her death bed! So if you think…" She turned her head, disdaining his little 'I'm-on-my-knees-begging-here' routine. "Try what you may, that won't take away the fact that you stole from my dead grandmother! Hmf!"
He dusted his knees and wrapped around her shoulders.
"You know," he joked, "she won't really need it where she's going…"
She shoved him away. She glared, hoping with all her will that her eyes would strangle him.
Guess it was a bad time for comedy.
She slapped him. He rubbed the impact mark, standing like a guy in the midst of a stroke.
"Like I need this…" he stomped out of the room. The door slammed as if saying to the party, 'an emasculated Mickey Mouse has left the building'.
Fortunately the party was too drunk or indifferent to hear.
"Dum dee dum dumm dummm…" Goofy was humming to himself, looking very suspect with his pants slacked near a potted plant.
"Goofy! What in hell are you doing?!"
Instead of the expected shock or embarrassment he scowled at the duck, "Can't a guy get privacy while he's doing his business?"
"You've been drinking, haven't you?"
"Nope, I'm dry as a whistle."
"Then why…?"
"Oh dontcha know?" he continued in obscene nonchalance as he emptied, "This is the proper way to do it at parties. What are ya, raised in a zoo?"
The duck face palmed himself, grumbling, "Fuggawugganagga…"
"Donald? Donald? Doanld!" Daisy seized his arm, "Donald can't you envy Goofy some other time? I need you to listen to my problems…"
"I'll come with…" Goofy struggled with the zipper, "…as soon as I remember how this thing works…"
Daisy crouched on the sofa. She was ready to tell Donald all her worries, cares, trifles: everything. Donald couldn't have cared less. How these two came together (besides the both of them being ducks) was a mystery even Ludwig von Drake couldn't solve.
She elucidated, "Did you see what happened to Minnie? Oh the nerve of that rat! If you ever tried pulling that on me, you wouldn't be able to walk…You wouldn't try that on me, would you? You love me right? Tell me you love me, Donald. Tell me you worship my every movement. Tell me you'll buy everything I want. Because if you want out relationship to stay happy, you'll have to completely spoil me. It's not like bla bla blah…"
Donald Duck, besides the occasional 'uh huh', wasn't in the conversation. In fact Donald Duck wasn't really there. He may as well been in the Himalayas at that point, because his mind was floating. Scenes played over and over, like a newsreel. Sound-bites of gunfire. Snapshots of twisted blackened support beams. It was a war. But the thing is, Donald had never been in a war. The closest he ever come to any action was a broom fight while on shore leave in Brazil. Like a highway overpass, these memories were a monument to a hidden (and terrible) destiny…
Minnie spent the rest of the party sniffling on her expensive armchair. A baritone yet slimy voice drawled, "Aw did Mickey-wickey hurt liddle Minnie-poo?"
She looked up at the body attached to the voice. Pete leered mockingly, dressed in a gaudy fur coat (a conundrum in itself as he had natural fur).
"I'd rather not speak with ilk like you right now," she frowned in contempt.
He sleazed his way into the chair, "Oh I think you do." With little hesitation he heaved a coarse hand down her back, "I think you do."
"Do I need to spell it out? Me and you are finished."
"Since oh how long? Two months ago?"
She pushed him away. Pete staggered, a little ruffled but not discouraged. "I think it's time you and me ditched the rat and hightail it outta here."
Some girls will take it to any level, but Minnie knew when to stop. She pointed to the door, "GET. OUT."
"Not before I get a goodbye kiss…" He wrenched her face towards his. Across the side of her face his tongue crawled like a worm out of an eye socket. Saliva dripped across her cheeks. It wasn't a kiss but a customer sampling merchandise.
"Ta-at toots!" he cackled. It was the wheezy laugh of a plague monkey, full of mockery and malice.
With all the commotion they made someone should've seen them, but no. In fact only Daisy saw poor disgusted Minnie shaking in the corner. Daisy, being the caring friend she is, resumed griping to a increasingly aloof Donald.
"Did you see what happened to Minnie? That's what I mean when I say marriage is commitment, Donald. You have to be prepared to be committed to me. And that means everyday I blah blah blah crap crap blah blah…"
Daisy had been too enraptured in her own voice to notice Donald staring at the smoldering cigarette, which he miraculously produced out of his nonexistent pockets.
Goofy was coming to terms with his rebellious zipper. After a half hour he came out victorious, hyucking to himself.
Daisy blabbed.
Donald stared.
Goofy hyucked.
They were the life of the party.
"Ghost exterminators…" he chuckled.
The phrase was so outrageous, so out there that it unsettled Donald out of his reverie. He ogled the dog-man critically, "What…?"
"Do you remember our gig as ghost exterminators?"
Donald nodded, "Oh yeah…what a big waste of money."
"But it sure was fun, ain't it?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. What about it?"
He dragged Donald within arm's reach, whispering, "You know that job we pulled in Connecticut?"
"Uh huh"
"Shhh!" He wheeled towards Daisy, who was still rattling on with little awareness of Donald or Goofy. He spoke again in murmurs, "Well I was just siftin' through stuff cause I was, you know, bored…"
"And…?"
"…well I was siftin' and I found this book…"
"What about it?"
Goofy looked over his shoulder expecting a ghost to tickle his ribs, "…I found this book and you know what it was called?"
"What?"
He gulped. He was really starting to get nervous, "…'The King in Ink', it was called 'The King in Ink'. I didn't even read it, but you know what? I opened it, just to peak…and these goosebumps goes crawlin up my spine like something was…" he looked again, "…was watchin' me. Gawrsh, I put it down and when straight outta the house. It was the scariest thing in my life!"
"What does that have to do anything?"
"You ever read the graffiti? I sometimes do. Well I was just leavin' home and what do I see?"
"What?"
"These big black letters: KING INK."
"So?"
"So?! What if someone read that spooky book I saw? Oh gawrsh, what if they're usin' it to scare me?"
Had Mickey listened to his story, he would at least pretended to feel Goofy's dread. But this was Donald. He simply gaped at Goofy dumbstruck and said, "Consarn it, keep your screwy ideas to yourself quaggaflaggawagga…"
He went back to the cigarette and its spiraling smoke.
In spite of the earlier emotional melodramas, many would've called it 'a rad party'. It would've been 'rad' were it not for the shriek of mangling steel. Everyone who was anyone ran to the windows. After all, everyone wants to be a witness. Outside a red Impala lay smashed with two police vans in an orgy of tangled pipes, torn doors, and bits of glass. Outside officers led a handcuffed Mickey into a police car. He seemed strangely chipper.
"Mickey! What did you do?!" Minnie shouted.
He giggled, "Don't worry honey! It's nothing big, only possession of illegal firearms! Don't worry, everything's gonna be okay! Merry Christmases I love you!"
"Of all the rotten things I can't believe…" she rushed out of the room crying. Minnie always had a habit of seeing the worst in Mickey, no matter how chipper his mood.
Out of the police window he called, "Hey Donald!"
"What?"
"Find the map! And before I go, remember: there are no presents in the future! Santa told me so!"
The guests began to lose interest and leave. No doubt tomorrow they would call the party 'a quaint affair'.
Goofy scratched his head, "What d'ya think he meant by that?"
"Beats me. Probably the most sensible thing of this whole night…" Donald took a drag. As he looked at the twirling smoke he couldn't help but think of Fokker Triplanes decked out in Christmas wreaths. Only four remained in the house.
Minnie cried.
Daisy blabbed.
Donald stared.
Goofy hyucked.
End of Chapter One
