Whenever it came to the potential of her father finding another interest, it guzzled up a convulsion from the pits of Gosalyn's stomach. As far as her juvenile mind envisioned, another adult being added to the girl's life was a mere asking for another bother. Another Binkie Muddlefoot yapping at what a lady should and shouldn't do, how to breathe, to blink, to sleep, to belch. Even the thought of such a dream made the Mallard manifest more fantasies of tearing out her own hearing.
The further thought that Drake could even be attracted to another "Binkie Muddlefoot" was a terror of its own folds: the last thing anyone needed had been another Herb.
Despite these things, there had been another depressing sight to see. It couldn't have been plain enough to witness that Drake wasn't exactly a "lady's man," in the least of terms. Yet, it still disturbed Gosalyn in more ways than single. The moment that any female entered a room, particularly one of appropriate age, Darkwing Duck himself would pale whiter than the birth of a glacial period. It hadn't just been the sort of graceless glance a geek would give an unrequited love; Drake was the definition of pure terror, and it wasn't due to the sole factor of his practiced art of misdirection.
A threat of treachery could pucker his brow, as he would cast away a burning countenance, dragging his gaze across the ground at the speed of an insect awaiting doom. If he were to utter words, they were stout and frozen, enough to wiggle his way out of a trust circle. Women that cared enough to acknowledge him often backed away in a fit of perturbation, before erasing him into apparition.
It had always been a depressing sight to see.
Despite the numerous attempts to wring the thoughts out of him, Gosalyn could never drag the motive from her father. Whether or not it had been based upon a rugged experience with many women in his life, or if he just hadn't been used to being around such a majestic breed, Drake wouldn't slip it out, much to his daughter's frustration.
Not that he hadn't been attracted to women, it would have been an obvious lie if it were so. Gosalyn distinctly remembered an argument that had confirmed this suspicion, upon the gratitude of the typical house-wife herself.
Such a girl of Gosalyn's age needed a proper, feminine, role model if she were to avoid brutish natures that could bloom into her character. Why hadn't Drake decided upon marriage, especially before adopting a parent career? It was essential for Drake to stay at home with Gosalyn to ensure her academic success. Drake needed to work better shifts with better wages, encourage better behavioral patterns, and rule a firm fist of dominance when it came to punishment.
The Mallard family had been "offered" these criticisms since the day they purchased a lot on Avian Way, sincerely by a Muddlefoot truly.
The final line was ripped from under Drake when Binkie popped the question one day, "are you and Launchpad dating? Just a curious thought." Gosalyn still couldn't extinguish the image of Launchpad choking on the cheese of a pizza he had been munching on; Drake in dramatic comparison saw blood. When a man's ego was murdered, he'd stop at nothing at salvaging the boned-waste.
Binkie seemed to learn to keep her tongue tied after that devastation, yet it never prevented her from poking Drake in the ribs from time to time.
In an odd glee, it still satisfied Gosalyn's dread that Drake would likely remain as her only guardian; even the girl herself couldn't imagine having to answer to anyone else, as strained it had become under Drake's authority.
It used to, anyway.
Darkwing was the ideal of an avalanche itself as he whipped back into the house, his fingers stabbing into the chair arms, as if the Grim Reaper had been knocking from under his bed frame. His gaze had been hammered ways a nail shouldn't have been, looming through the hollow shadows of the evening.
"Who scrambled his brains?" It shivered Gosalyn that her father hardly whispered a breath, walking as briskly as he had entered. She had witnessed a lion roar without a ring of noise. Launchpad contorted his face into one of hesitance, eyeing the girl with a questionable air. "Nobody important." Not only had the girl been a walking feat of deception, but she could sniff it within a block away.
The pilot heaved in defeat, rolling his eyes at a boring concept. "Just some lady we met tonight; ever since she started twirling him with a finger, D.W's been running circles ever since." It may have been a stale visual for Launchpad, but it crushed Gosalyn's normality. "He's thinking about getting me a mom!? I ain't coming to a wedding until I at least see her, and she better not be some hooker!" The ravenous child wasn't about to allow her allowance raise, for once, to go to some random creep on the streets.
"Would you calm down?" Before Gosalyn could snark another bitter remark too grave for words, the pilot gagged her voice with a swift hand. Even after giving the "slobber" scheme upon his palm, Launchpad merely glared in response. Gosalyn grumbled a defeat.
"I didn't say any of that…..but she is, weird, in kinder terms." For a long while, Gosalyn never truly understood the heavy influence in those words. Whenever it came to the potential of her father finding another interest, it rocked Gosalyn off her malfunctioning rocker. It used to, anyway.
Morgana had exhibited nowhere in the lands the young girl had in mind. She never centered the world around herself, not entirely anyway, and hadn't been a near lapdog for her father. She hadn't been a woman who snared her claws when it came to "property," but had a distinctive aroma that set a bystander's boundaries. Growing dead to the criticizing glances Binkie would always give her, it stabbed Gosalyn that Morgana never graved those features into her own; in its absence, was an alien ardence, an empathy that grew in an unexplored marsh.
She had been aware of the uprising only a single father could give, she existed the frustration's a single adolescent occupied, and she knew better than to fight against Gosalyn's sense of spirit. As time grew with knowledge, Gosalyn noticed the ghoul's leniency, specifically in relation to herself. She hadn't been the shadow that lurked behind the girl, much like Drake was, but it hadn't made Morgana a doormat to trudge on lightly. She knew when to assert dominance, and Gosalyn had grown to respect it.
When it came to the thought that Gosalyn would have to accept a new mother figure, it hadn't scolded her conscience: Morgana had been one since the beginning. It was truly a sightful blessing that Drake had grown accustomed to the strange stares of women he'd often get, stumbling into a market; Morgana had showered an affection Drake had, seemingly, never experienced from his own lines of blood. Often days, when Darkwing had been quarrelsome on the matters of Gosalyn staying home to study, she'd often ditch the study time to trudge to the ghoul's home.
Not that Morgana also hadn't encouraged such behavior, despite enduring through such a phase in her younger years. However, when Gosalyn proved on a more difficult conscience, the ghoul would often let it pass for another day (of course, she'd also phone Drake at some point that such an event occurred.) She wouldn't morph into Binkie under a howling moon, stuffing literature and feminism down the girl's throat like tarnished soap bars. Instead, Morgana allowed Gosalyn to endure the consequence she manifested for herself, within safe boundaries.
For the longest time, Gosalyn had held to the dear promise that Drake Mallard would be the only soul that ever knew the girl's nature for what it was. Morgana, had been a much more interesting concept.
Author's Note:
Sorry for the lack of story updates! It's been a tough couple of weeks, but I'll be trying my best to stay consistent! I apologize if this story isn't one of my best of works, but the idea has been stuck in my head for quite awhile. I just wanted to get it out there!
Thank you so much for giving this work a read, all criticism is very much appreciated!