Forever thanks to my forever editor, Lies. Also, I want to point out the french I'm using. Since they're in France, they're all technically speaking French. So when I put in french words, like monsieur, it means they're emphasizing with emotion. If you're confused to what a french word means, use google translate, since that's what I did when coming up with certain names.

The Scarlet ran through the night, jumping from rooftop to rooftop and becoming a blur in the shadows. His travel did not stop until he managed to land on top of The Arc de Triomphe. The famous entrance to Champs Elysees was deserted this night, so no one was there to see the masked hero press against three bricks in a certain sequence. Nor did anyone see a small section of the monument open up by his side, and when he jumped down it, the section move back into place as if it had never been disturbed. Who would have guessed that within the landmark there was a long elevator that would slide the man in red down underground? He exhaled deeply as he traveled downwards, still feeling a rush of excitement over his début.

When the glass doors opened, he stepped into a wide room covered entirely in metal and mechanics. Though they were only four walls, this single room was bigger than most houses. Tables and desks were scattered with experiments and papers, and one wall was covered in clear screens showing different areas of France. Two men were at these screens, typing away rapidly at several different consoles. When they heard the doors open, they quickly turned around to greet the Scarlet, both of them smiling with pride. The hero smiled back, and took off his mask. "So… how did I do?"

"Fantastic! Bravo, bravo!" The first man clapped wildly, walking straight up to the hero and shaking his hand. This was Professor Ludwig Von Drake, an aging duck with graying hair sticking out the sides of his head. Though he was never seen without a lab coat, underneath it he always dressed trimly. "Had me a little worried with the chandelier and the glass and the breaking, but, hoo, boy, did you ever make an impression!"

"I'd say our experiment was a complete success." The second man agreed, adjusting his glasses. This was Professor Gyro Gearloose, a bird that was younger than Ludwig but by no means any less intelligent. His clothing was less flashy and more humble, and his bright hair emphasized his youth. "Too bad the police weren't up for making friends…"

"Aw, I'm sure they'll open up ta me once they see what I'm tryin' ta do." Now that the Scarlet was among friends, he relaxed into his natural dialect. "What about you guys? Did ya find anythin' 'bout who hired those fake revolutionaries?"

Gyro shook his head, grabbing a chair and sitting in front of the elaborate computer screens. "Nothing solid just yet. Whoever paid the Sky Pirates was paid to pay that person, and so was that person, and so was that person… it's a long chain of bribery and we're nowhere near finding the head of it. There are a lot of people who would benefit from the talk of revolution dying down, so there's a long list of suspects to go through."

"You just leave the detective work to Gyro and me." Ludwig shoved Mickey towards a row of slender tubes up against another wall. Inside each tube was variations of the Scarlet outfit save for two, one that was empty and the other which just held brown, tattered clothes of a newspaper boy. "You've had a big night, and you need your rest."

"Rest!" The hero laughed at the notion, but he obeyed the action and walked towards the empty tube. "How can I sleep after all a' that? It was one of the best nights I ever had!" He put the mask inside, and then rubbed his eyes to remove green colored contacts. "I tell ya, this whole idea was enough to keep me awake fer weeks!" He carefully picked out a small chip from his ear, and then another from under his tongue. "Makin' my voice diff'rent, listening devices…" Without the chip in his tongue, his voice now sounded squeaky and younger, which was his natural tone. "You guys thought a' everythin'!"

Ludwig tugged on his coat as he prepared to brag. "We weren't called geniuses for nothing! A bulletproof vest, a cape made out of solidifying material, magnets in your boots to run up walls, not to mention the little stilts in there to make you taller… my personal favorite is the sword. One push of that handle, and it heats up hot enough to slice through metal!"

Gyro raised an eyebrow at the explanations. "…Ludwig, why are you telling us things we already know about?"

"I was also called Mister Exposition." Ludwig dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. "Now Mickey, I know we helped you train before this night, making all those exercise routines so you'd be ready, but a growing boy still needs his sleep."

By this time, the Scarlet had turned back into Mickey and was dressed to fit the part. "Fine, fine… but I can't wait until the next job!" He pumped a fist in expectation, but then felt something rustling in his sleeve. He fished around in his sleeve until he pulled out Minnie's purple ring. "Oh! Almost fergot 'bout this. It'll sell fer a lot, right?"

Ludwig calmly took it out of Mickey's hand while wearing a devious smirk. "You do remember we saw everything that happened in there? Our little Casanova couldn't just ask her to take it off?"

Mickey's cheeks flushed darkly and his eyes darted away nervously. "W-well… ya told me ta make a big impression! She's never gunna ferget that." He tried to laugh it off, backing away slowly. "C'mon, I promised ya guys that I wouldn't let my feelin's fer her get in the way of the job! Ya trust me, don't ya?"

"We trust you plenty." Ludwig jabbed a thumb at the standing tube now holding the Scarlet's previously worn outfit. "It's him that's making us worried." Gyro was wisely staying out of the debate though he did seem to be trying to holding back laughter. Ludwig yanked off Mickey's cap and playfully ruffled the top of his head. "Go and get some sleep, boy! And have sweet dreams of your little duchess!"

"Awww, knock it off!" Mickey snatched back his hat, and speedily ran towards the elevator, eager to get away from the teasing. He could still hear their combined laughter when the glass doors closed and he was sent up and away.

When Mickey was gone, Gyro took off his glasses and carefully rubbed them clean with a thumb. "Maybe we should get some sleep too. It's been a long night, and we're going to have plenty of work ahead in the future." Yet he paused as he looked down at his glasses, and slowly lifted his head to look at Ludwig. "…Do you… regret what we've done? Any of it?"

Ludwig still smiled, though now it was more comforting and a little sad. "… We made our decision a long time ago, Gyro. We had to convince everyone we were dead, and cut off all ties. We don't live for ourselves anymore. We live for the future of France."

Gyro leaned back into his seat as he put his glasses back on. "You didn't really answer my question."

"Ask me another time." Ludwig turned his back to his friend, and Gyro had a feeling another time was very far away.

That morning's newspapers were covered from front to back about the hijacked hijinks from the night before. Just about everyone in the city was telling their own version of the story, and the paper boy experienced record sales as everyone was hungry for information about the startling encounter. Everyone who had the paper was reading it intensely, except for Donald. He was in his room, and was supposed to be reading long, boring books about taxes and business trade. Instead, he was making paper airplanes with the newspaper and lamenting his cowardice. That night he had seen the girl of his dreams, but when she had been in the line of danger, Donald had been frozen in place.

Sighing, he tossed the plane into the air, trying to comfort himself with the sadder fact that he would probably never see her again anyway. That was one of those once-in-a-lifetime chances, and he was a duck without luck. Sighing heavily, he looked out the window, thinking about the country life he had left behind. His sight lazily drifted over the people below…

Then he experienced a twice-in-a-lifetime chance. Though he blinked and rubbed his eyes hard to make sure, there was no doubt it was she down below, the impossibly beautiful girl who was now having an argument with an older woman holding a basket of bread. This time, Donald wouldn't lose the opportunity! He fled the empty room and nearly mowed down every servant in his path to get to the front doors, and slammed them open in his excitement. To his good fortune, the girl was still there, and still arguing.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Daisy snapped, her ladylike fingers balled up into fists of trembling anger. "That's twice as much as I paid last week! How do you expect anyone to eat?"

The older woman shrugged apologetically, wringing her hands together. "I'm sorry mademoiselle, but I can't go any lower. You have to think about where I'm coming from… the supplies to make the bread have increased in price as well! We have to raise the prices just to make more!"

"Another tax hike!" Daisy ground her foot into the dirt, not wanting to direct her anger at the bread maker but needing a place to vent her rage on. "It's like they're making sure we starve to death!"

As Donald watched the exchange, he thought he saw a fantastic way for him to land the girl whose name he didn't even have a faint grasp at. Clearing his throat far louder than necessary, he dug into his pocket, and pulled out a small satchel of money, waving it back and forth in his hand. "Excuse me… but I believe this should more than cover the cost of that entire basket." He even made sure to make his tone as impressive as possible, trying to imitate the way all rich people supposedly talked. He tossed the satchel at the confused baker, and lightly took the basket from her arm, grinning at Daisy.

Daisy was surprised initially, but when she recognized the buyer, her glare could have easily curdled milk. "… You're the McDuck's nephew, the new heir."

He was so bent on impressing her that he didn't hear the dripping acid in her voice. "That's me! Donald Duck, one of the richest guys in all of France! Why, I bet I could buy and sell a million coliseums in one night and still have enough to get you three thousand new dresses by tomorrow night. You want it, I can get it a million times over." He leaned in with a wiggle of his brows, ready for her to swoon. "How about I treat you to the best meal you've ever had with the best guy you've ever met, toots?"

Maybe if Donald knew how hard Daisy had to work just to make the dress she was wearing, he would have kept his beak shut. Maybe if he knew how deeply she loathed the waste and exaggeration of money, he would have kept his beak shut. Maybe if he knew just how deeply she loathed every man with more than his fair share in their pockets, he would have kept his beak shut. But Donald didn't know any of these things, so it was up to Daisy to shut his beak for him. "… And you know what I bet, monsieur?" She spoke carefully, touching the basket with one hand. "I bet that…" She took one extremely long loaf of baguette bread out. "… If you ever come near me again, I will make you regret the day you ever thought of hatching out of your marble and porcelain egg, you disgusting waste of feathers!" She then forcefully shoved the baguette right into Donald's mouth and partially choking it down his throat. "You make me sick! I hope you rot!"

She then stormed off, huffing and puffing harder than any wolf, and was soon gone around a street corner. Donald stared at the empty space where she just was, the baguette still sticking out of his mouth. What just happened there? Heartbroken, he desperately tried to ask the baker what he did, but having food stuck in his beak made him rather unintelligible. The baker merely shrugged and soon left him as well so she could count her coins. Donald finally swallowed the bread that had been shoved at him, and contemplated as he chewed. This was a loss, but on the plus side, it did mean she had to live here. There had to be another chance to see her again, and surely that time, his riches would win her over. What more could a woman want?

Daisy wanted to never see him again, that was for sure. She marched down the street, her stomps and growls ensuring no one stayed on her path for long. Those of the lower class were familiar with Daisy and her tantrums and knew that she was never to be trifled with when she was in such a mood. However, those close to her could find ways to weave conversations with her without losing a finger. One such close friend calmly started to walk with her, hands in his pockets. "I take it breakfast is off."

"You would not believe what just happened, Max." She cut a look upwards at her much taller companion. Maximillion Geef was actually younger than Daisy, but given the tall heights that dogs like him possessed, it was easy to make a mistake otherwise. His ragged attire and dirty black fur echoed the same poverty she experienced, but he also had stains of oil splattered here and there, hinting at a hidden hobby. "That nephew of McDuck just tried to hit on me!"

Max shrugged his shoulders idly. "You get hit on all the time."

"Of course I do, I'm gorgeous! That's not the point!" She crossed her arms, still indignant and sure she had done the right thing. "He was waving his money in my face! Like he thought he could just buy me! He should be grateful I didn't slap his beak off, especially after what happened last night. He and all his rich friends just stood there like cowards! I bet they would have used me like a shield if they needed to."

"Speaking of last night…" Max grabbed onto the discussion change as quickly as he could, and began to lower his voice. "Those fake revolutionaries, and then that Scarlet guy…is it possible that someone within our group was sharing information about what we've planning?"

The seriousness of the topic was enough to quell Daisy's anger, and she hesitated before answering. "… I don't want think so, but… we've got to be careful. It set us back a few steps, and we need to rethink a few things. We'll discuss it all on Thursday." She made certain to keep her words vague enough so that anyone passing by wouldn't have the faintest idea of what they could be chatting about. "What about you? How's the project coming along?"

Max gave a small smirk of pride at this change, giving thumbs up to her inquiry. "I should be finished by tomorrow night, and she'll be ready to go."

Daisy snorted, trying not to sound derisive. "She? Really, Max, we need to get you a girlfriend…"

"So I get attached to my projects, is that a crime? And besides, the last thing I need is someone else getting in the way of my work." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, frustrated at the reminder. "It's bad enough when dad tries to help. Of all the fathers in the world, I get stuck with the dumbest one in all of France."

"You know he means well, don't talk about him that way." Daisy lectured him but she knew it would do little good, as this was a familiar dialogue they had gone through countless times. "Look, it's almost noon. We should get to our jobs, but keep at the project. Don't waste that big brain of yours by sweating the small stuff."

"Yes, mother." He rolled his eyes with all the sarcasm he could muster. Daisy stuck out her tongue at him, but these childish antics were also common between them. They split apart at the next block, and as Daisy wondered what to do about the Scarlet, she had no idea she walked right by him as she tried to ignore the shouting of the local paper boy.

Mickey was well rested and already acting his way through the day. He had to play the part of just another surprised citizen who was clueless about the Scarlet. Though he was trying to play it cool, he was actually eager to see what Minnie's reaction was. The genius birds were right, and Mickey had gone off script with the ring removal. It still made him blush to think of how he had gotten away with that. Maybe next time he'd get luckier and she would have an earring for him to nip at.

He managed to calm his overactive imagination by the time her familiar carriage began to approach. A new act had to be played, and he set himself up for the role of the worried friend. When she walked out and into the cold air, Mickey dashed up to her, almost spilling his papers in his mad run. "Minnie! Are ya okay?" He grabbed her hand, looking her over for any injuries he knew didn't exist. "I read all about what happened, are ya hurt?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay…" She gently took his arm, trying to lead him to their usual seating place at the fountain. "But, oh, Mickey, it was amazing! They just can't put it into words!... You did save me a paper, didn't you?"

"Don't I always?" He folded a newspaper onto her lap as she sat, and then she began to elaborate on everything that had happened that night with exaggerated motions and gasps of air between long descriptions. Mickey nodded accordingly, remembering to be shocked at the right times. She only stopped when she reached the part where the Scarlet had gotten 'compensation' from her hand, and she paused, looking at her hand where the ring once was. Mickey waited, trying to understand her expression. "… Well? And then what?"

Minnie continued to pause, focused on that memory. Just why had the Scarlet done that, instead of simply taking it off with his fingers? No man had ever been so bold with her before, though she had been flirted with plenty due to her beauty and status. Yet this was definitely above a simple flirt. There was something about the way he spoke and the way he gazed at her that spoke volumes of a language she didn't understand. They were complete strangers, but the way his green eyes had locked into her was as if he was wholly obsessed with her, and even stranger, that carried a trace of familiarity with it, despite such impossibility. She then shook her head, returning to the present. "… And then he took my ring, and left the building before the police could catch him."

Mickey tapped his fingers along his knees, knowing she had left out certain details. "… That's all?"

"That's all." Minnie held up the paper and flipped through the pages. "All in all, I'm so glad you weren't there."

He was certain she didn't mean that as an insult but he had to make sure. "Uh… thanks?"

"If you had gotten in danger like that, I wouldn't have known what to do." Minnie pressed a hand to her heart, despondent at the sheer thought of it.

"Aw, I woulda…" Mickey had been about to assure her with a line about being able to beat the brows off such bad guys, but now that he a secret identity to maintain, he reluctantly realized he would have to downplay himself more often in order to separate himself from such a great man. "… W-well! It'll never happen ta me anyways, I don't even got anythin' fer them ta steal. So… whaddya think about this Scarlet fella?"

"I'm not sure what to think about him, honestly." The duchess reached into her coat and began to take out more coins than were necessary to pay him. "But I am grateful for his help. I suppose if he meant what he said about a revolution of equality, then I'm glad he'll be around. We could use more people like that, defending those who can't defend themselves."

"I dunno, the guy sounds a lil' loony ta me." Mickey began picking up the coins one by one out of her hand, hiding the cheering in his head over her approval. "But if ya trust him, suppose I should too."

When he tried to take the last coin, Minnie suddenly grasped his hand, and looked into his eyes. He found himself frozen by her touch and her look, and so as it always went, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and words left him. She had no such problems with speech. "… I think things are going to get more dangerous, if such people as those fake revolutionaries are around… Who knows what they're capable of? So, please… be careful, okay? You know how much you mean to me."

Speak, speak damn you, his head yelled! He wanted to tell her that she was most perfect and heavenly being that existed and he was blessed to be in her most concerned worries, bur all he could manage was a stammered "Y… Y… Ya… um. O-Okay."

She smiled, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. "After all… you're my best friend."

How could such a nice word carry so much annoyance and devastation? To be a 'friend' was, in this mouse's head, a dull victory. He swallowed his disappointment, and nodded in agreement. "And… yer my best friend too. Don't ya already know that?"

Satisfied, she released his hand, and resumed reading. It was easy enough to wade into their usual idle chatter, her with how her servants were doing and he with a guess of the week's weather. This was how it had been for years, and as far as they could tell, how it would remain to be for many years to come. Mickey knew he had no right to be bitter, since he had no right to be anything more than a best friend. So he relished her presence, grateful just to talk with her, and they spoke of the Scarlet no more.

In the business district, there was one building that dominated all others because of its height. It appeared to reach into the clouds and give the gods a poke in the ribs. The building was covered in glass windows, so that when the sun shone on it, anyone who looked on the building was temporarily and painfully blinded. To the lower class, it was a constant symbol of the rich grinding their heel into the faces of the poor. To the higher class, they all knew it as the Tache Bank, where the wealthy stored their wealth when not lavishly spending it on themselves.

The owner of the bank was sitting in his office and enjoying a refreshing cup of tea. He took his time to take in the taste and aroma, despite the expectant stares from everyone in the room. Tea was never to be rushed, in his opinion. No one dared to speak until he placed his cup back on its saucer, and drew his fingers across the newspaper that lay flat on his desk. "So, if I understand this correctly… the Sky Pirates were completely found out and exposed, but you have absolutely no idea how that could have leaked out. Am I wrong, monsieur?"

Though he didn't say a name, everyone knew who he was speaking to, and so all eyes went to the fat cat sweating profusely in the corner. He smoothed down his uniform, and tugged limply on his tiny mustache. "N-Not to worry! I'll make sure they keep their mouths shut! If they know what's good for them, they'll never say another word as long as they live!"

"The fact that they do still live is what's bothering me." The man at the desk stood up from his chair, sounding disappointed. "I was hoping enough confusion would erupt that some bodies would pile up. But that's what happens when you don't plan it out to the last detail. Perhaps that was my fault. We should learn from our mistakes." He gazed out the giant windows, and looked at the bustling movements below. "So I propose we learn as much as we can about our new little friend before we spring into the next movement. I'll hold a little get together on Thursday… a sort of welcome for Donald Duck. A fine boy, from what I've heard." He turned to look at his companions, smiling warmly. "And of course you're all invited." He first gestured to the sweating cat as if he was his best friend. "After all, what's a safe party without the Chief of Police?"

The Chief, Pete Felin, exhaled deeply, relieved that he hadn't incurred his boss's wrath. "That's mighty generous of you, sir!"

"Yes, I know." He walked out from behind his desk and then addressed the member next to Pete, still with a warm familiarity. "And every party with the Chief requires some of the lower management to keep him in line, does it not, Horsecollar?"

"Yes, sir." Horace Horsecollar was a low rank police officer, but even he knew the smile plastered on his employer's face was nothing like friendliness. He distrusted the man for many reasons, and made it constantly known. However, he wasn't brave enough to actually stand up to the bank owner, and so for now he kept the other thoughts to himself.

The bank owner chuckled dismissively, able to feel the seething loathing coming from the horse, and felt a cruel desire to inflame it further. "You'll keep an eye on him, won't you, my dear Clarabelle?" He lifted the cow's gloved hand to give a kiss, even able to guess the exact timing of her flustered giggling as Horace's eyes jealously bore into his back.

"You know you can always count on me!" Clarabelle Cow squealed, thrown into an excited tizzy over receiving his affections. She cast a hand over one of her red cheeks, as even ladies who worked in dangerous steel factories had a sense of modesty. She was the lowest in class among the group, but always felt extra high around the presence of the bank owner.

He tossed her hand away once he was done with it, addressing the final member of their small group. "I'll leave you to handle the rest of the affairs, Shyster."

"Consider them already done." Sylvester Shyster fixed his tie, swallowing up every last drip of responsibility given to him. More responsibilities meant more money, and as an employee of the bank he always had an insatiable craving for money. "And should we invite this little… Scarlet hero?"

"Naturally." He picked up his saucer and cup of tea again, finishing the last drops. "Let's make sure he also feels welcome. What kind of duke would I be if I didn't extend my hand to newcomers?" He looked back into the windows, and though his expression was still friendly and though his voice still warm, an unsettling darkness came about his manner. "What kind of duke would I be if I didn't extend my hand to all of France? It's difficult being related to the bloodline of royalty, and those duties can feel like a burden. But I have never backed down from them. It's my responsibility to ensure France's future, and keep everyone where they rightly belong."

To be a duke and duchess meant that no matter how faint it was, they had a relation to royalty, and would live in the lap of luxury for it. Over the years, the bloodline had thinned, and there were only five remaining lines that tied back to the Queen of France.

There was the Mouse line, where Duchess Minerva was the outcast for sharing her wealth instead of spending it.

There was the Gander line, where Duke Gladstone was looking for a bride of his fine quality.

There was the Medecin line, where Duke Fou was said to be the very last due to his reluctance to settle down.

There was the Rabbit line, where Duke Roger was commonly called dumb behind his back and when they got away with it, to his face, which was far too often.

Finally, there was the Tache line, who had created the Tache bank, and as the remaining Tache, the one who stood in front of the windows felt a sense of nobility and superiority running in his veins. "Tell the papers that Duke Fantome Tache formally invites the Scarlet to his party Thursday night." He thought the 'scarlet' was a fine color, and as he continued to watch the poor walk on the streets, enjoyed imagining them in scarlet hellfire, where they rightly belonged.

End Of Chapter Two.