Although Duckworth never could pinpoint the master's ancient life span, he knew for a darn fact that Scrooge had to be at least older than him by ten years. Yet, this same wilting flower had been speeding faster than the butler's own feeble legs could carry him. "Sir, please slow down; I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Ah. Quit ramblin, Duckworth! I'm busy."

"I can see that, sir."

The butler used the steadying clap of the battering cane, chalking against the marble floors, to be a tempo for his failing pace. Duckworth kept pushing further; he was edging closer now, with a loss of a few breaths. "Sir, please…"

"Not now, Duckworth."

"Why the sudden hurry…" The butler sharped a few more airs, before he could finish his thought. The thought that consisted of a slapped together stale bun sandwich. "...you were merely in the middle of your counting, before jumping up like it had been stolen." The sir had never stopped counting his wealth until he had finished, and even then, he would do it at least two more times on an off day. Perhaps the proposition of a theft was truly the most rational idea the butler had in mind. Speaking of change, Scrooge's accountant was nowhere in sight. "I don't have time for that right now."

"Since whenever was there a time when you didn't?"

"Flintheart is grinding against my cheek feathers, and if I don't do something about it I won't have any money to count." Duckworth nearly slammed into a deceiving wall as Scrooge swept his cane around a sharp corner; the dog stumbled after him in a near daze. "I do not know what the serious issue is, sir. You are fretting me."

"The issue is Flintheart!" The old man's voice boomed through the bare halls, causing even the sacred paintings that hung hid away under his authority. Scrooge snared a venomous grimace. His cane echoed its final clap, stilling the air around them."Think Duckworth, what is eatin' up the days?"

The dog blinked, hoping to mask the empty head behind his shivering eyes. Duckworth glanced at one of the oil paintings, its solemn face pitying his stance. He quickly chortled out an answer."Eating the days? Why, isn't it the gallery?" The old coot's eyes chimed a scowl; even his poor feeble cane seemed to bend under his superiority. "Yes, and why is there a gallery?"

The butler paused for a moment, as if the simple question could not be given an answer, even by the universe. "That, sir, is something that I'm unsure of. If you're so worried about presenting your most prized possessions, why host the gallery?"

"It ain't simple!" Scrooge's feathers bristled a hurricane, as his eyes struck lightning. "Ya knuckle head, don't you understand!? Flintheart was who proposed the stupid gallery, in a idiotic bet he dueled me in. If I turned it down, he would have gibbed to the whole world on how much of a coward I was. Not one McDuck was ever a coward!" The brutality in the voice scraped against the echos, chiming even the chandeliers into a low whine. Duckworth kept still, hoping that the hallway wouldn't suddenly collapse into submission.

Scrooge sighed. He flipped off his hat, grooming through (what was left of) hair with shivering fingers. "Duckworth….I–don't know what came over me." The butler approached as forgiveness suggested, offering a hand for the hat. "It's been a rough month, sir. Nothing taken."

Scrooge chuckled whisperlessly, giving a stiff glare of amusement. "Aye, 'cept my dignity. My sanity too."


Author's Note:

Thank's for checking out this story! More chapters in the near future! All criticism is appreciated!

I do not own any Ducktales/Darkwing Duck properties, nor do I make money off of this story. All characters belong to Disney and their rightful creators.