She would have phoned Launchpad, if he had picked up the first five times. She hadn't let the fact bother her as much; she was only given the number in case Darkwing couldn't pick up the phone. Considering the circumstances, Darkwing couldn't pick up either. Drake also always insisted that Gosalyn was never responsible enough to have a phone herself. The only person left that Morgana could think of was Herb Muddlefoot.
After that first outing with the family some time ago, Herb had persisted in giving the ghoul his contact, in order to ensure the efforts of getting his clients to come to her restaurant. The plan gave a small backfire; he never called her, and she hadn't bothered with it either. Morgana gave a slight assumption that Herb had simply forgotten about it, and the witch herself was too caught up with other affairs at the time, considering having to balance her new line of work with her personal life. He picked up on the second ring.
"Ello? Herb Muddlefoot." Morgana hadn't expected her tongue to choke her the way it did; what was she supposed to tell him? That Drake had to be hospitalized? That he was Darkwing? The witch was on a dead blank for a conjuring minute, until another meager "hello" rang through the phone, drizzled with uncertainty.
"It's Morgana," before she could break off the sentence herself, Muddlefoot had done so for her. It was almost as if his voice was pitched with a fever at his realization. "Oh!" Believe it or not, Morgana hated the thought of lying. The act only brought back memories of the days she secluded herself to riches, a life where riches was all that life was. She had matured since then, so even giving the thought of fibbing felt as if she crashed herself back into old habits. Morgana lied on the phone; there wasn't another way to pull that sleigh.
"-Drake wanted to make sure where Gosalyn was." The ghoul nearly strangled herself for almost slipping the word "Dark," but luckily her tongue still had a mind of its own. She twiddled at the silence, wondering if Herb had even heard her. There was a chuckle, shattering the impulses through the telephone. "Oh, that Drakester! He left her with us this morning. You see, we were packing for our camping trip and…" Morgana only heard the sound of air as Herb continued on, and she listened enough to learn that Gosalyn had joined that camping trip. Whatever her reasons may be, and whatever reasons she had given her father to convince him to let her tag-along. The point was, Gosalyn was at least under better hands, for the intensity of events depicted in Morgana's day thus far.
Before she could utter another word, an agonized yell bounced through the walls. Without a second worth of thinking, Morgana slammed on the receiver, itching to reach back into her bedroom. Drake laid withering, already attempting to retch out another sound. By the time she reached him, the duck had already been dozing off again.
The only thing Drake could recollect about the event was the sound of glass shattering, boxes bursting, rubber burning. Negaduck had outsmarted him, but Darkwing was smarter. "Behold St. Canard! You're beloved Roasted-wing Duck!" Negaduck spat a smile, his teeth whiter than slushed snow. "Oh wait, that's right. You don't have any fans. But that's okay, because I've found you some….right, here!"
On cue, large electric fans were snapped to high speeds, buzzing with harsh friction. Darkwing's wrists burned against the rope's knots, pressing his back as stiffly against the pole as it would allow. The fans had encaptured him in a circle; he twitched at the smell of fire catching. "As Safety Commission states: fans can be a fire hazard when produced at high speeds, at elongated periods, and if connected to one outlet." Negaduck had been fumbling with one of the cords with his foot, observing the horror his enemy likely hid behind the mask. "But hey. Who am I kiddin', I ain't no tech whiz."
Darkwing gritted his teeth, as hideous amounts of breezes bashed and clashed him. "It ain't ever enough for you, is it?" Negaduck slumped into view on a high balcony, hideously blunt factory lights darkening his grave gaze. "No matter how many times you could have died, could have been bruised, or could have lost something. I know there's something that drives you, and it's more than your ego…as shocking as that is."
Darkwing held back a beam on his beak, cautiously dragging his foot behind the distance of his pole capturing. Negaduck paid no mind. "But hey, maybe I'm overthinking it. Maybe it really is your ego. But then again, maybe you could have been a villain. Maybe you really disillusioned yourself about how much you care for a city that despises you." The burning was immersing into vast clouds of smoke now, blocking Darkwing's entire view. His lungs burned, as his ashen eyes failed him. Negaduck leaned over the railing, pondering down at the bellows of smoke, climbing steadily up the walls. He bellowed louder than the fans jittering. "Or,maybe you really weren't ever cut to be a hero."
The idiot had left the outlet switch right behind the pole Darkwing was strapped against. Within a precision kick, all of the fans quickly aligned themselves within Negaduck's view. Before there was a second guess, fire polluted the factory.
Everything was fuzzy after that moment: the world spun, fire spewed, ash exhaled throughout the space. The blow had launched the pole off its origin spot, and the collision was enough to break the rope bonds that scratched against Darkwing's hands. If only to add to Negaduck's list of mistakes, he hadn't bothered with the glass window panes, pathetically stored within the perimeters of the factory lines.
Delicately painted faces of dolls, lined in a coherent fashion, melted and molded into each other's bodies, teddy bears were burned to crisp, black, clumps, and the glass bursted shards every direction they deemed necessary. In fact, Darkwing had concluded that glass might have been the thing that shot him off his escape route. He wailed as something lodged itself into the side of his torso, the fire beginning to trace marks and burns against his legs.
Darkwing grabbed helplessly at the ground with chipped fingers; a window was perched upon a towering set of crates, who had yet to be eaten by the inferno scampering behind him. He could just lay there, and let the flames engulf him, welcome him into a blazing family he never experienced before. A family that saw purpose behind heroes, a family whose world only ever saw red and orange, nothing in between. No.
He leapt to his feet, cursing through the pain and fluid he felt dripping from his side, and launched himself for the winter snow.
Drake woke up.
