Mothering Heights
From the outside, the Mallard house looked tranquil and serene. Inside, things were quite deceiving. Drake was, for lack of better words, running around like a chicken with its head cut off. This time it wasn't Launchpad's cooking-it was something far worse.
Gosalyn! Clean your room, stand up straight, and wipe that smug look off your face!
But daaad
No buts! I don't have time to--LAUNCHPAD!! Get your feet off the coffee table! I just polished that!
Drake swiftly polished the coffee table then went back to vacuuming and dusting with a frilly apron on. Apple pie baking in the oven overpowered the cleaners used throughout the morning. Before sunrise, all the doorknobs underwent polishing. Windows were washed until only glares on the glass indicated they were there. Toilets were made to expel the scents of potpourri. Gold was put to shame by the luster of the Mallard residence.
Martha Storkert, eat your heart out. Black liquid brew was poured into Drake's mug for the twentieth time since he woke that morning. A demolition crew could have evacuated him for being such a wreck. Darting eyes serviced as a detector of imperfection. Drake kept his guard up as he sipped his coffee in front of the TV. Pelican's Island was being shown and projected the picture into his cerulean eyes, bearing little advent of strain.
It was hardly his preferred choice, but simply sitting down was ecstasy to him. His webbed feet rubbed down the soft, freshly shampooed carpet as he stretched to air out his feathers.
A high-pitched ring sounded throughout the house. Drake darted towards the door then brushed himself off and sprayed his breath. He smiled greatly and opened the door. Welcome mo- he stopped. No one was there.
Geez DW, you really are a wreck. Drake closed the door and re-polished the knob with a rag in his back pocket. I think your pie's done. Launchpad leaned against the entry way to the kitchen and pointed backwards towards the oven as he snacked on some chocolate winky doodles. Drake got his cow shaped oven mitts from the drawer. Scents of freshly baked apple pastry expelled into the kitchen while he opened the oven to get the pie. Another bell rang from inside the house.
I'll get it! Gosalyn shot towards the door and slipped it open.
Gosalyn! Wait! He put the pie on the table then quickly hung up his apron and went to the door.
Gosalyn jumped into the arms of her beloved grandmother. Whatya bring me? Her grandmother laughed lightly, It's good to see you, too! Her sophisticated eyes lit up as she held her granddaughter. Small wrinkles in Mrs. Mallard's face were a sign of age. Mrs. Mallard aged beautifully from her streaks of silver, gray, and white hair to her delicate webbed feet. Knowledge of ages was gathered in her mind.
A light green silk jacket draped from her shoulders and underneath was a green and blue dress patterned with numerous delicate flower designs. Silver glasses framed her eyes and made them more enchanting. Unlike most grandmothers she possessed the sweet fragrance of the lilacs blooming early in the spring. Vibrancy emitted from all over her body. Truly she was exhilarating person with lots of friends and family that cared for her deeply.
Drake's face softened as he approached his mother and daughter. Gosalyn hopped out of her grandmother's embrace. Mrs. Mallard extended her arms,
Drake swiftly wrapped his arms around his mother. Cow mitts still covered his hands so he quickly shoved them into his pockets, hoping no one took notice. He held his mothers arms to her sides.
It's good to see you.
It's good to see you, too. And Gosalyn. She placed her hand on top of Gosalyn's bright red hair and they walked inside, It's so long between visits. Gosalyn is turning into a spirited young woman. Not much longer until she'll be beating down boys with a stick.
She already does that in hockey. Launchpad came in from the kitchen. Howdy, Mrs. M. He wrapped his huge arms around Mrs. Mallard.
It's nice to see you, Launchpad. Woo, you're as strong as ever! she nudged him with her elbow in his ribs and let out a hearty laugh.
Well you need to be in the flight business.
Ah, yes. And how is that working out for you?
Same as usual. I can still crash em like I used to. Launchpad smiled at Mrs. Mallard then she returned the warm smile. Drake put his arm around his mother's shoulders.
Well, why don't we get comfortable in the living room? he lead his mother inside and towards the couch, I just baked a pie, would you like a piece?
Oh my, yes. Thank you, Drakey. Gosalyn snorted. she repeated to herself quietly. Drake turned his head around to glare at her and then proceeded into the kitchen. Gosalyn and Launchpad quickly occupied the blue easy chairs, careful to not set off the statue.
So tell me, Launchpad, Mrs. Mallard began, How are things between you and Drake?
Awe, Drake's a great guy, and a good buddy.
Oh? You two seem to spend an awful lot of time together.
Well, I don't really have anyone else to hang out with in the area.
Don't you have a girlfriend?
Who, me? Launchpad blushed, Heck no.
I'd think a big hunk like you would be popular with the ladies. She winked in jest.
Shucks, Mrs. M, I'm not that great.
All of the training that Drake was doing for his nighttime crime fighting was starting to show. He easily picked up the metal tray he covered with drinks and snacks for everyone. Reflected light flashed up and down the length of a sharp knife as he picked it up to slice the warm apple pie. Mrs. Mallard continued to make conversation as her son placed the pieces of pie onto dessert plates.
So Drake, how long have you and Launchpad been companions?
I... guess about two years now.
Well, where did you two meet? She was handed a piece of pie and set it on her lap awaiting a reply from Drake. Drake began to pour more coffee and handed the cup to his mother.
Launchpad does some business with dad's greeting card company. Gosalyn was always good at coming up with excuses. Despite the way she just dug him out of a hole, Drake showed no sign of thanks. Yes, he umm... delivers cards to sick war orphans!
Launchpad quickly redirected the conversation to how Mrs. Mallard's retirement was going. Slight sorrow sparkled in the corner of her eyes. Night after night she spent most of her time crocheting. It was a poor substitute to the waxy scent of fresh crayons and finger-paints from her old job as an elementary school art teacher. Too much free time was a burden; she released a wistful grin. Everything was silent for a few moments.
Hey, what's with the melodrama? Gosalyn slapped down her plate and wiped the mess from her bill, Come on, lets do something fun like play video games or eat pizza or see a zombie movie! Her eyes widened and relaxed as she said the word . There was nothing the pig-tailed girl loved more than gory science fiction movies.
Mrs. Mallard turned to Drake with persuasive eyes, It was a long drive, and I could use something to eat.
Come on, dad, let's go somewhere really spiffy for pizza.
Launchpad raised his head up from his plate, we can go to the Duckie Cheese! They have the best pizza in town! Mrs. Mallard nodded her head in approval.
All right! Gosalyn hopped up in the air and threw her arms outward, Keen gear, lets go!
Gosalyn grabbed on to her father's hand, dragging him towards the door. The all collected their coats and headed out the door. Drake offered to drive and held his hand out to Launchpad for the keys. They all piled in the station wagon and buckled in. Gosalyn leaned forward, Aren't we going to invite Morgana?
Drake's face crinkled up as he put the car key in the ignition. He had never told his mother about Morgana, he was afraid of how she would react. Morgana wasn't exactly a girlfriend. She was dark and eccentric.
Hm? Who's Morgana? Mrs. Mallard's voice lifted pitch and her eyebrow raised. Gosalyn turned towards her with a shrewd look.
That's dad's girlfriend.
Drake turned towards her and glared. She shrunk back into her chair.
Drake, is this true?
he turned to his mother but adverted his eyes. It's... well... it's just that... Drake racked his brain for a reason why he'd never mentioned her. We don't see each other much because she's very busy with her studies. Drake started the car and shoved off.
Oh. What sort of studies?
Gosalyn butted in, She's a sorceress! She studies magic and potions and how to turn people into Jell-o! Gosalyn waved her fingers in the air dramatically, Presto change-o! Like that!
That sounds really captivating! Drake, I'm shocked you have such an eclectic girlfriend. For a while I though you and Launchpad were... well, never mind. C'est la vie. She looked thoughtful for a moment, Is she busy today? Perhaps she'd like to come along.
I don't know. I wouldn't want to distract her if she's in the middle of something important.
Come on, dad! You know that Morgana will be more than happy to see you! Gosalyn was a very brave girl. She didn't think a thing of disagreeing with her father. He was a force to be reckoned with, but so was she. They possessed the qualities of a true father and daughter.
I'd really like to meet this woman. She sounds fascinating. There's no harm in dropping by, is there?
Come on, dad!
Drake veered the boat of a car to the left towards McCawber mansion.
*****
Approaching Morgana's castle, Drake sweat more than the time her was hanging over the pit o' sharp things in Dr. Slug's hideout. What would his mother think? After all, Morgana wasn't exactly the type of girl one would take home to mother. She had a criminal background, wore revealing clothing, practiced magic, and her family was quite undesirable. On top of that was the secret of her feet which all started when...
We're here! Gosalyn announced as Drake pulled up the windy driveway. Mrs. Mallard eyes turned into deep blue bowling balls as she set them upon the structure before her. Drake opened his mouth to speak, but his mother beat him to it.
Se magnifeque! Never before had she seen such a beautifully themed abode. It looked like a castle she's admired in a horror movie a few years back. She went to see a midnight feature with a few old friends. It was as strange film, a parody of every other science fiction feature she'd watched, only with a horrible twist.
There's a light. Gos pointed up towards the window of Morgana's room. A shadowy silhouette beaconed them to the castle like a fly to flame. Drake pulled the auto up to the house. Gosalyn unbuckled her seat belt and bounded out, I'll go get Morgana And disappeared with a puff a smoke behind her.
Gosalyn! Hold on, young lady! The safety of the seat belt held him back, choking his neck. He pressed his soft feathery finger down on the metallic release button. Dashing out, he forgot to close his car door. Mrs. Mallard watched him sprint through the air. Dried, withered leaves twirled and danced about in the wind of Drake's movement. Trees at the residence were barren; the leaves had frolicked off the branches and tumbled to patches of crab grass below. The ground he stepped on felt like it wasn't dirt--just jagged rocks.
Gos swung the large doors open and screamed, HELLLOOOOO? Anybody home? Morgana? Her father put his hand on her shoulder causing her to jump a slight amount.
Gosalyn, what have I told you about rushing into people's homes? Morgana floated up behind him.
Why Dark. What a pleasant surprise!
His bill dropped. No matter how many times he saw Morgana, the sight of her made him melt into a wet puddle. He loved the way her dress tightly preserved the flawless features of her figure. Those long, soft legs, her tender hips, and her large supple breasts. His stomach churned like butter as he caught sight of his mother and Launchpad slowly proceeding to the castle. Drake diverted his eyes from the dusty, broken windows.
Something wrong Honeywumpus? Drake stretched out his collar and sweat profusely from his forehead. His head spun. Not only was his mother meeting Morgana, but also the rest of her family was around the castle somewhere, possibly even watching him right now. Drake never preferred the McCawber family, and he was unsure of how his mother would react. What if she wanted them to get married? Imagine the wedding! Morgana's family would most likely want to devour the Mallard family or change them into yaks.
Launchpad knocked on the open front door, Anybody home? he cautiously peered around so as to not alarm anyone with his presence. Slowly he entered and spotted Drake grasping onto Morgana's hand. He started into the house. Gosalyn waved them over. Mrs. Mallard clasped her hands together in front of her face as she slid towards Morgana. The couple shared the same confused appearance while Mrs. Mallard grabbed Morgana's hand and shook it up and down.
It's so nice to meet you, Morgana! I'm Emily Mallard, Drake's mother.
Morgue was astonished and couldn't quickly decide what to say.
Aren't you a vision! Drake must have been very luck when he landed a girl like you.
Well... thank you!
Gosalyn pressed one foot outward, Well, now we're all acquainted. Since we're all here, how about going for lunch?
Drake looked down at her, then back into Morgana's eyes, Would you like to join us for lunch, honeywumpus? His voice had almost a sarcastic tone to it and he dug his foot into the floor.
I'd love to! her high-pitched reply made Drake sigh in relief.
Then let's get going! Gosalyn hopped into the air and led the way. A snide remark was added by Drake. Only Launchpad heard it, and didn't understand why the McCawber family was anything like a vacuum.
The lunch went off without flaw. Morgana and Emily hit it off really well. Mrs. Mallard shared her stories of studying art in France and took great interest in McCawber family history and the decor of her castle and restaurant. Launchpad and Gosalyn watched the show while eating slices of hot cheesy pizza. Drake calmed down a little, but it seemed eerie how well his mother and girlfriend got along. Morgue held her head in her hands and looked thoughtful, stirring a cup of coffee.
So have you taught elementary school art all of your life?
A few summers ago I taught a course in impressionism at St. Canard University. But never again...
Did something happen? Drake sorrowfully rubbed his mothers back with the palm of his hand at Morgana's question.
Mrs. Mallard cleared her throat, I'll tell you about it. A few summers ago a friend suggested I try teaching a class at the university. I'd been teaching children for so long, I figured I could use a change of pace. The day started filled with excitement and fresh, clean air of summer. When I got to the classroom, everyone was smiling and chatting amongst themselves. Things were great until...
Until she came in. Dressed as dark as night with a feverish look across her malicious face, she stormed to her seat. Eyes burned a crimson shade and shiny black boots clanked on the desk. As I taught, all she did was yawn and groan with her gloved hands clenched on her chest.
~~~~~
Mrs. Mallard was discussing a piece by Chagall with the students when the girl flipped her head back and snored loudly. How anyone could be so inconsiderate of her class was beyond understanding. She moved on to a painting by a local artist of sky blue cows flying decadently as swallows. She began saying to the class, Now what really brings this piece alive is- The dark lady's eyebrows raised up and she darted across the room.
THIS is what brings the painting alive! and she spread a clear pink goop over the painting. It shook and rumbled, the cows peeled straight off from canvas and buzzed around the room. She cackled in shrill garbled laughs. Everyone gasped in terror, hiding under desks, cowering in corners, or fleeing the classroom.
Why are you doing this? Who are you?
Me? Heh, she slipped her hand through her ratty jet-black hair with the other hand placed on her hip. Call me Splatter.
~~~~~
With that she painted over a landscape with clear residue, jumped in, and disappeared. I never saw the girl again. The room was a terrible mess. One of the cows trampled on a student and left him with broken ribs. Not only that, but they left... droppings everywhere.
Silence was cut short at the resonating sound of a woman dropping a pan on the floor. Everyone turned to check on the embarrassed waitress. She seemed very flushed; something more than just the fall of a platter startled her. She got a hold of her breath, and simply shrugged it off.
Are you okay? one of the waiters asked as he bent over to assist her with picking up the pieces of spilled pizza. She looked around to check if anyone was in listening distance. Well, for a moment I thought I saw a woman walking in that painting of the beach. Her head lifted up to look in the direction of the cash register with a beach scene painting by the side.
You're working too hard, the man put his hand on her back and rubbed it a little, then they both got up and proceeded back into the kitchen.
Drake was in the booth behind them and leaned over eavesdropping on their conversation. He sank in his chair and his eyes took a dark look for a moment.
Is something wrong? Morgana stared concernedly into him.
Yes! We're out of coffee! Where's our waitress? He darted his eyes around rapidly. A large costumed mascot popped out from the stage and moved from table to table sprouting lines as generic as the cheese on their pizza.
Hey everybody! It's time for Duckie Cheese!
No, it's not! Splatter jumped into the scene with the aura of madness to her. She painted a gag and rope in the air and tied up the costumed man. She created a gun and swung it about in the air at the customers. The cash register chimed open and Splatter stuffed her bag (already containing oddly shaped items) with the money.
Mrs. Mallard kept her eyes pressed on the woman. It was the same girl from her art class. The sight made her heart jump up into her throat and choke her. Her feathers stuck out in fright as she struggled to let herself breath.
In an act of sheer instinct Morgana raised her hands and jiggled her finger,
I call upon the element of air
that blows in the trees that I may stare
at your supremacy nevertheless,
lend me the power that you possess
Air and lightning twirled in a manifesting spiral. Glowing red, Morgana directed the whirlwind towards Splatter. Drake went under the table then fell onto the floor and crawled to the bathroom. He craved the change into Darkwing and the symbol he represented. Hurrying on all fours to protect his mother, he was almost stomped by panicking customers.
Splatter painted a large vacuum and sucked up the tornado in one sweep. Morgana receded in terror, her eyes wide and shaky.
Trivial tricks fail to encompass power of my stature. Splatter placed her black leather boot on Morgana's face and kicked her back against the floor. Eerie blue mist arose from the ground beneath and engulfed the entirety of the windowless zone. It was a little moist and cool, making Splatter's down feathers stand on end. She knew what was coming and stood her guard.
I am the terror that flaps in the night... Splatter tried to find him by swinging her fist around and flailing wildly until she became dizzy and shouted, Show yourself you craven brute!
With his arms stretched out, his cape blew in the separating smoke while he struck a dramatic pose. He drew his gun and aimed it at his adversary, I am the spicy pepperoni that gives you heartburn! Prepare to suck gas!
The cartridge shot right in front of Splatter and the gas began to seep out. Before it reached her, she painted a gas mask on her face and fled. Darkwing turned to Launchpad, Stay behind and take care of the girls. I'm going after her.
He raced to catch his foe, breathing heavily just to keep the pace. The alarm from the St. Canard museum could be heard in the distance. Splatter darted into a back alley then looked around desperately. Thinking she hadn't been seen, she dove into a well-concealed brick door. A small, round hole in the rock was the way to pull it open by hooking her finger inside. She whispered to herself, "I hope that imbecile Darkwing knows better than to follow me" and closed the door behind her. Lurking in the shadows was the dark side of truth, watching her like a bomb about to go off.
Darkwing slid around the corner, then dashed behind some garbage cans. He turned around and peered into a crack in the door. Blinding white light bled into his pupils. Deep inside the confines of the dark alley was a studio.
Splatter dropped her bag of stolen art and money, then sprawled her arms across a tall, dark man. He had long black hair and eyes as blue as the sky. He wore a fishnet shirt with jet-black leather bondage pants and knee high strapped boots. His feathers were painfully white and his hands sank into Splatter's back. With an aura so dark, it should have enveloped light around him; yet lighting inside the studio was bright and warm.
Such a backwards place gave Darkwing chills and he tipped his head down covering his face in the shadow of his hat. The blue smoke bomb in his coat was detonated as he tossed it in the studio, pouring his trademark throughout the enclosure. The musty scent always made Darkwing feel empowered. He desired it, craved it, and sometimes wished to make love in it.
Complete elemental surprise overtook Splatter as Darkwing forced his elbow into her back, cracking and grinding the disks together.
How's this for an introduction? His webbed feet flapped in the air as he made a lightening fast kick at Splatter's comrade. Though his head was the target, Darkwing couldn't reach, and dove his foot into his chest, then propelled backwards and rolled back to a squatting position on his feet. Darkwing pushed his body up and drew his gun at the dark figure.
Suck gas, and he cocked the gun. Before he fired, Darkwing was saturated with pain and his mind went black. Splatter grinned sadistically as she ran her fingers through her dry, ratty hair. Her lover and her pulled the anvil with the Darkwing shaped indentation off the unconscious hero's head. Splatter trickled her fingers around the man's shoulders and held his arm as he held her from behind.
He nestled his head next to hers, What should we do with him? His icy eyes froze forward and he looked like a mannequin, staring off blankly.
As the smell of molten metal concentrated in Darkwing's nostrils, he stirred and opened his eyes. Blurry images cleared as he woke more, his head pounding like the deep tone of a hollow African drum. In the corner of his eye he spotted the couple below him.
Salutations Darkwing, I see you have risen. The man stared up at him. Darkwing swung around, suspended by hemp rope above a pit of boiling iron ore extracting hematite for use in paints. The fumes going through his system ignited his sensed and caused him to see an array of colors, none the correct for what it should be.
Let me introduce myself, the tall duck leered forward, I'm Splatter's creator, Xypher. I'm also going to be the one to destroy you. But first I suppose you'll be wanting to know my fiendish plot.
Darkwing turned about, far too drenched in agony to be concerned of the origin of another rogue.
It all started when I was a child. My parents always wanted me to grow up to be a scientist and discover cures for deadly diseases. But I was mocked and ridiculed in school for my grades. Those people weren't deserving of my genius, so I turned to a vent...art. Art allowed me to show my anger, my hatred. No one understood, so I drew more. One day when my classmates were especially cruel, I combined my natural scientific genius with my desire for art. I created a compound that brought art to life. That was when I created Splatter. She was a design I adored and craved on my canvas. And I brought her to life with my paints. With each stroke, I designed her perfectly to compliment my needs. Truly, Splatter is my perfect woman.
The couple embraced as sweat slid down Darkwing's feathers, tickled his skin and dropped into the pot below. The heat was fraying the rope dangling Darkwing above ultimate doom. Jolt of pain converged in his head when he tried to think of a way out. Yet through the distress, he at least could keep his hope up that he might be saved. He couldn't die like this, not with his mother waiting for him. He couldn't put her through that agony.
Just then the ratcatcher blew straight through the wall backwards.
"Whoops" Launchpad laughed, "Having a little trouble backing up in this thing."
"Look! There's Dark!" Morgana jumped from the sidecar, only to freeze in place at the travesty set forth before her. It felt for a moment that she had died in place, then a shivering rush coursed through her head, and pushed down through the rest of her body, tingling her fingers and toes. She has thawed out from an Artic state in the blink of an eye, and was weakened for a few seconds to recover. Her eyes dilated and retracted, her legs twitched. Suddenly she felt completely energized and refreshed like just taking an invigorating shower in a fresh mountain waterfall.
All the steam from the pot was making Darkwing sweat profusely and slicking up the ropes. It make him itch and tick in annoyance of the irritation, like bugs nipping at the corner of his eye. He could have controlled it if he had the strength to resist, but he barely recovered enough to make out Morgana's figure with his blurry eyes.
Morgana began casting a spell on the two villains, and they darted their eyes in apprehension. Her hands raised in the air as Splatter tightened her fists around the rope suspending Darkwing.
Inspired by the daringness of his friends, Darkwing began to swing the rope back and forth, "You'll never get away with this you damnable diabolical duet." Splatter released the rope, just as Morgana zapped her into a smoldering pile of paint chips. Darkwing landed on top of Xypher, knees down, and Launchpad ran to DW's aide.
"You okay, DW?"
"I'm fine, LP. Where's Morgana?" Darkwing dusted off his sweaty, oil slicked feathers, and ran his fingers through his hair. He turned his head just in time to see Morgana's face before she threw herself upon him.
"Well," Darkwing coughed, "it's nice to see you, too."
"Whoa, who's this guy? Launchpad pointed to the wrecked form by Darkwing feet.
"That, my friend, is the fiendish follower of filthy flagrancy that created this fearful figure!" He pointed to the pile of Splatter Phoenix. "But thanks to this caped crusader, and, uh, a little assistance from friends, the day has been saved by Darkwing Duck!"
Xypher crawled a length, rose to his feet, and began to bolt.
"No one escapes the wrath of Darkwing Duck!" He grabbed a bucket and tossed it at the villain. It opened as it slammed against his head, covering him in the liquid substance within.
"Yes! Direct hit!"
Launchpad's eyes popped and he shrieked, "Oh my-- DW!! He's melting!" They all turned their heads to watch as slimy goo poured off the body of the once proud Xypher. He hid his face within his hands as if he was hiding a gross deformation. Slowly his slid slid down as he sat, staring at his hands, whimpering in fear. Paint remover had melted away at the shell of a man and left nothing but what was hidden beneath.
"Now you're done it, you've taken away my identity. I am no longer anyone. I can no longer have Splatter." He rose and wiped his sticky face, "You see, I created Splatter to be my perfect woman, but I was far from her prefect man. So I had to recreate myself, make an entirely new me. Splatter was too good for a greasy Daggers & Dungeons playing fanboy to be breathing down her neck. So I became that," he pointed sadly at the puddle of muck at the floor, despair in his eyes. He kicked the floor, and began to crawl away, sulking.
"Now wait just a minute! shouted Darkwing, "Just because you've been utterly defeated by the mighty masked mallard, does not mean I'm going to let you go!"
"You're right, Darkwing. I never should have let Splatter take over my sense of self in the first place. The obsession with creating life overtook my soul, and I became a monster. Now thanks to you I have realized that even while I am locked up in jail, it is better to be alone and be myself than to than to distort myself for another."
As Darkwing began placing the handcuffs on the tall, gangly man, Morgana found another can of paint remover and dumped it on the remains of Splatter. The liquid trickled down the drain, and dripped away just as Xypher's false identity.
*****
Later that day at the Mallard residence, Drake kissed his mother goodbye and stepped back. Gosalyn ran up and grabbed Mrs. Mallard tightly, "Bye grammy," and let out a little sound as she squeezed.
"You behave yourself, Gosalyn," and kissed her on the forehead, then rose to meet eyes with her son. Drake smiled a weary smile, then escorted his mother to a taxi.
"Take care," she held onto Drake's hand, "Oh, I almost forgot. I left a small present for you in the house."
"Mom, you didn't need to..."
"Goodbye Drakey!" and with that, the taxi drove off. Drake watched as Gosalyn chased the taxi down the street and waved. He then turned and walked back into the house with Launchpad. Drake spotted the present and raced over, tearing off wrapping paper right and left, "You know, my mom really is the greatest," he commented to Launchpad, "She really shouldn't have..." Drake stopped as he peeled back the last piece, revealing a portrait. It was one of the most extravigent things he had ever seen. He was enamored by a brilliant painting of Darkwing Duck, standing tall and proud. The note attached read, "To the best crime fighter and son in the world. Through your greatness you can achieve anything, even bringing a man back to his true identity.
"She... she.... she knew all along?! Through the whole ordeal? The whole time?"
"Gosalyn! did you tell her?"
"No way, dad!"
"What about you, Launchpad?"
"I'd never reveal your secret identity to anyone, DW."
"Besides, dad," Gosalyn added, "you always tell me children shouldn't keep things from their parents."
Launchpad peered over at the note, "I don't get it."
"What's that, LP?"
"I don't understand why it took a duck in a cape and mask to help someone realize to be their self."
"Launchpad..."