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antiquarianandunusual · 1 year

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Duck the Halls Week One: And a “Bah, Humbug” to You Too!

Duck the Halls Masterpost

Read it on AO3!

Synopsis: The annual Duckburg Christmas Decorating Competition is on the horizon, and Flintheart Glomgold has weaponized it to make a mockery of Scrooge. The millionaire miser, never one for the Christmas spirit, recruits very merry nephew Donald to help him figure out the ins and outs of the holiday.

The only problem is, Glomgold has the same idea, and his bribe, however small, is looking mighty tempting for the upcoming season. Looks like Donald has his work cut out for him!

Fandom: Disney Duck Comics/DuckTales (I took inspiration for the characterizations from both medias! Glomgold, however, is entirely DT87.)

A/N: I came very close to not getting this posted on time because this ended up being so much longer than I originally intended it to be. :_D

Scrooge McDuck had never been much of a Christmas man, or if he had been he certainly had an odd way of expressing it. Chasing carolers away with a tight fist (both literal and metaphorical), frustratedly changing the radio station in flight from perky holiday tunes, and displaying outward disdain for any season’s greetings before December 1st were just a few of the ways he proudly demonstrated his complicated views of the holiday. He didn’t hate it entirely, of course, but Scrooge was notorious for his jaded resentment of certain festivities ad although his family fought tooth and nail to lighten him up, he was also known for being stubbornly set in his ways. Most McDuck Industries celebrations came to pass via merry nephews and mirthful employees, and only then because he weathered the jollity for his loved ones.

So, imagine Donald Duck’s surprised when he pulled into the driveway of McDuck Manor, already humming Jingle Bells in his favorite snowman sweater, to find the mansion dripping with winter cheer on the first of November. The gutters were lined with icicle lights, twinkling even in the midday sun, and the roof had traditional holiday lights trickling down it; the strands were alternating between neon greens and brilliant reds. A winding row of abnormally large, plastic candy canes stuck out from the grass along the driveway’s path. Maybe not extravagant to the average eye, but for McDuck? It was simply a winter wonderland.

Donald hadn’t even begun to think about picking his jaw up off the ground before Scrooge appeared in the manor’s doorway like a disgruntled Santa Claus with his red coat and unkempt whiskers. He was scowling, and the dark circles under his eyes quickly betrayed his lack of sleep. “Nephew!” he barked, taping his cane on the steps.

Normally, Donald would never have let dear Uncle Scrooge regard him in such a way, but he was reeling to the point that rather than reciprocating, he obediently exited the car and stumbled towards the door. “Uncle Scrooge, wh-”

“Ssshh!” Scrooge tugged him by the sleeve and fully into the house. The only light in the main hallway after Scrooge slammed the door behind them spilled through window curtains, creating an eerie, conspiratorial air. Even more suspiciously, he rushed to press one eye to the peephole. “He might hear you!”

“Who, Uncle Scrooge?”

Only tentatively certain the coast was clear, Scrooge tilted back slightly and side-eyed Donald. “Glomgold! That no-good, low-down-”

“Slow down!” Donald hollered. “What’d he do this time?”

“Nothing incriminating- yet.” Scrooge shoulder-checked his nephew and stormed towards the dining room, the taps of his cane echoing ominously throughout the hallway. Donald nervously gulped, yet still followed, and when Scrooge haphazardly gestured towards a chair, he took it, no questions asked. The autumn sunlight blasted through the window on the far side of the cavernous room, which cast Scrooge in a pale, almost ghastly light as he took the seat across from Donald; the light’s reflection on his spectacles rendered his expression nearly unreadable, save for his tight, almost morbid frown. Shadows falling over him accented every ruffled feather and line on his weathered face. “As you know,” he started, “Flintheart Glomgold and I have been rivals for many a year.”

No kidding, Donald thought. He opted to keep it to himself.

“Of course, no matter how small the battle, I pride myself on besting him each time because it shows the world that liars, cheaters, and stealers will always be at the bottom of the barrel. Now, I refuse to stoop to his level, that’s not what I’m getting at. But I know when there’s a fight I cannae weather on my own.” He rose from his seat to cross the threshold and gaze out the window. “You noticed the decorations outside, correct?”

“Well, they’re kind of hard to miss on your front lawn, Uncle Scrooge.”

Scrooge elected to ignore this. “The annual Duckburg Christmas Decorating Competition is on the horizon and Glomgold has plans to enter it.”

“... So?”

“So, he’s taking it as an opportunity to humiliate me!” He sighed and sank into a different chair at the head of the table, massaging his temples. “He announced it on the news last night and called me out by name for ‘not having a merry bone in my body’, as if I don’t know for a fact that the cheat hired a decorator to do the work for him.”

“... But he’s right.”

“That’s beside the point, lad! I’ve never let anyone drag my name through the mud and I certainly don’t plan on starting with Flintheart Glomgold. Regardless, I can’t in good conscious let him take the win away from someone who deserves it.”

With a smirk, Donald reclined in his seat and kicked his feet up onto the table. “You want the $50 prize, don’t you?”

Scrooge swiped his legs back down. Underneath his feathers, he was beaming red. “It’s a perk, yes, but ultimately beside the point.”

Donald readjusted his sailor hat, which had fallen over his beak. “Alright. I’ll bite. What’s this got to do with me?” he grumbled.

“You said it yourself, Glomgold was right. What you see outside is about as far as I got before I hit a roadblock. If I’m going to win, I’ll need the help of someone who knows his way around Christmas.”

“Really? I thought you wanted to come by it honestly.”

“Well, clearly, I’m going to do the work, too! All I need is someone to put me in the right direction.”

“And what do I get out of it?”

“You get the knowledge that you helped your dear, old uncle. Consider it your good deed of the season.” Donald also received a hearty pat on the shoulder, and he sank under Scrooge’s hand with a squawking exhale.

“I don’t get a choice, do I?”

“Not if you want an inheritance.”

“You know, I hate that you can use that against me! Your own nephew!” He whirled around on Scrooge, who was grinning wryly.

“10 A.M. sharp. And don’t be late!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Of course, bright and early the next morning, an exhausted Donald was pushing along a cart- obviously, the only one in the store with a broken wheel- down the narrow aisles of the bargain store. He knew he could do a lot with a little and had for as long as he’d had his own house, but he had a bone to pick with Scrooge’s impressive home and characteristically minute budget. At least, he reminded himself, it wasn’t coming out of his own pocket. That was a Christmas miracle he wouldn’t turn his beak up at.

Already stocked in the cart were boxes of more lights with colors of all sorts; tinsel snowmen and Santas with stakes to go into the lawn; rich, green, plastic garland for the front of the roof and door; and all manner of quirky signs that said things like, “Santa stop here”. Donald could already vividly imagine Scrooge’s disdain, a thought that gave him the utmost satisfaction; the miser had demanded a Donald Duck Christmas, so he was going to get one. All that remained on his list was a wreath for the front door. Put it all together and you wouldn’t necessarily have a lavish set of decor, but a charming one, nonetheless.

He continued scouring the aisles, which were looking barer and barer as he shifted towards the back of the store. It appeared that they had moved most of the stock up front in wait for new inventory, which was no significant deal, but the idea that his original plan wouldn’t come to fruition already had him agitated. And he certainly wasn’t about to scramble around Duckburg for it.

It was the next to last aisle, with a flickering- yet still heavenly- fluorescent light above it was his saving grace. The wreath was absolutely hideous; it was made of peppermint-colored tinsel, glittery green ribbon wrapped around it in a way that culminated in the most endearing little bow. A total eyesore, Donald knew it was the most perfect of outcomes. He reached for it on instinct and would have had it had someone not careened head-first into his cart with theirs. The buggy he was steering violently jolted back and the handlebar went into his stomach with such force that he immediately doubled over. Little else mattered as he worked to suppress the sudden, overwhelming nauseous feeling, but he caught a glimpse of the light reflecting off of his coveted wreath as it was held high in triumph.

“Nice try, Duck!” a glib, Scottish voice proclaimed. “That’ll teach you to play errand boy for old Scroogey.”

Donald would have recognized that voice anywhere. “Glomgold?!” he sputtered. He pried his eyes upward and sure enough, there stood the richest duck in the world, who looked immensely out of place in suburban Duckburg. He looked as mean as ever with his brow furrowed over beady eyes and his beak contorted into a wry grimace.

“The old skinflint couldnae be bothered to do his own dirty work, eh?” Glomgold cackled. He tossed the wreath into his almost empty cart. “How honest of him.”

Donald was quickly possessed with the need to defend his uncle; Scrooge got on his nerves, but when it counted, he was still family. Now mostly recovered, Donald rose to his full height. “Tough talk for a guy who has to pay for someone to do his for him. At least ScACK-”

Glomgold’s breath was hot on his face, the collar of his shirt balled in the smaller man’s fist. His feet had left the ground and his torso was hovering just slightly over his buggy. “How did you know about that?!” Glomgold hissed.

“Word travels fast in Duckburg?” Donald choked.

“Bah!” Glomgold shoved Donald backwards. “Doesnae matter. I’ve got more important things to worry about.”

Rubbing his neck, Donald gave Glomgold a nasty look. “Where is your decorator, anyway? Shouldn’t they be doing this kind of work?”

“That’s my personal business and no one else’s!” For a moment, Glomgold’s eyes went wide with embarrassment, but after a moment, he recovered with a scowl. He spat a covering scoff and swiftly moved to back out of the opposite end of the aisle. His face might have been red, although Donald wouldn’t have known; the world’s second-most miser diligently kept his head down.

That is, until an idea struck him. He jolted back up and suddenly gave a mildly alarmed Donald a once-over, landing first on the buggy of seasonal goods and then on his snowflake-patterned sweatshirt. He took a deep breath, swallowed his pride, and approached again, this time careful not to slam into the other’s cart. “How would you like to help an old man out this Christmastime?”

“No, thanks.” There was an apparent edge to Donald’s voice. “Helping Uncle Scrooge is going to give me enough trouble.”

“What if I paid you?”

That caught Donald’s attention. His eyes narrowed, yet the extra layer of suspicion did little to mask the evident excitement. “How much?”

“One hundred. Not a penny over.”

The duck would have been lying if he said his heart hadn’t skipped a beat. $100 would never solve all of his problems, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt anything; there were dozens of ways he could use the extra cash. Presents, groceries, bills... Scrooge would never let him live it down, but he was always complaining about Donald not working hard enough to earn his keep...

Who said Scrooge had to find out, anyway?

“Pay me up front and we have a deal.”

Glomgold frowned. “And why exactly should I trust McDuck’s nephew to keep his word?”

“Why should I trust my uncle’s nemesis to actually pay me what I’m owed?”

“Hmm... Touché. Fine. Be at my mansion by 2 o’clock this evening- no later! You’ll get your money when you show up. My old decorator, erm... left behind most of his decorations, so all you need to do is handle putting them up.” Glomgold backed away, this time for real, and as he rounded the corner, hollered, “Remember- 2 o’clock!”

Once he vanished, Donald sighed. This was going to be a very long day.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Task one was getting McDuck Manor in tip-top shape in just under four hours, and Scrooge was already making things difficult.

If you had ever even heard of Scrooge McDuck, you were well aware that his stubbornness was unparalleled. To phrase it nicely, he was a particular man who knew precisely what he wanted, and when that vision was compromised, he quickly became testy. This was discernible from the moment Donald had begun unloading the car when he approached, at least appearing slightly more rested this time. However, a good night’s rest did little to prevent him from being ornery; all it took was a sideways glance for Donald to gauge what kind of day it was going to be.

Knowing this, Donald made the executive decision to tackle the worst of it first: the garland. Should tensions have escalated, he wanted to have solid ground beneath his feet by the time it happened; although Scrooge wasn’t particularly malicious these days, his loving nephew still didn’t entirely trust him not to “accidentally” send him over the roof’s edge. So, the dynamic duo took Donald’s old toolbox, Scrooge’s rickety ladder, and some semblance of team spirit up and to the top of the manor.

Everything started off with enough niceties. They began by temporarily removing the icicle lights that were already up, which they would reinstall over the garland. Scrooge’s habit of micromanaging manifested only in claiming the brunt of the work while Donald collected nails and wrapped the lights up neatly. They small-talked about how school was going for the nephews (surprisingly well; Donald didn’t have to tell them to do their homework as much, anymore), how Daisy was faring (as high-strung as ever), and how McDuck Industries stocks were looking (still worth trillions despite certain efforts). It was rather pleasant for a time until they actually moved on to the main part of the job.

Scrooge started on the left side of the roof and Donald on the right. The garland was just long enough to cover the length of the front of the roof, which they both concurred was all they really needed. But it was pulled taut with little give; it was only a matter of time before someone got caught on it or adjusted it just slightly too far. This person, of course, just so happened to be Donald, not even realizing he was tugging on it.

“Watch it, lad!”

“What do you mean, ‘watch it’?!”

“I mean what I said!” Scrooge gestured frantically. “You’re yanking on the blasted thing! It’ll go all uneven!”

Donald grumbled something slightly foul under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Uncle Scrooge!”

For a long moment, Scrooge glowered at Donald. Upon realizing his nephew wasn’t going to remove his gaze from his hammering, he pulled on his end of the garland. This ripped it out of Donald’s hand and sent half of it fluttering to the ground below.

Donald rolled his eyes and with a sigh, marched over to Scrooge’s side to reel the rest of the garland back up. “Really, Scrooge?”

“No clue what you’re talking about, Donald.”

And so, the games began.

The garland installation continued exactly as it began, in a passive-aggressive back-and-forth, a quiet battle of seeing who would lose their temper first. When this was done and the two of them were red-faced from pulling against one another, the replacement of the lighting kept the legacy going. These strands were just a little bit longer than the garland, so engaging in physical combat wasn’t much of an option, but they substituted tiny, antagonistic remarks and conveniently timed sighs with the sole intention of driving the other mad. No one lost it entirely, although headway was certainly made.

Afterward, they shifted to the lights Donald had just purchased, which he proposed they wrap around the driveway candy canes to create a humble chain of light along the path. This seemed to please Scrooge well enough, so Donald moved to open the boxes and dumped the strings out into his hand.

Every box was tangled into a catastrophic ball. Scrooge’s sneer quickly returned, yet he extended a helpful hand. “Let me take care of that,” he offered. “You just worry about the signposts.”

Conceding, Donald forked over the strand he was working on and snatched the bags with the signs and tinsel figures in them. He could already hear Scrooge quietly cursing as he fumbled with the lights. As he selected a tattered mallet from the toolbox, Donald opted to ignore it.

In the bags, there were currently six signs with various sayings and four of the adorable figures. An even total of ten meant five on either side of the lawn; they could be staggered, too, creating a sense of chaotic order. The image of it alone made Donald wish they had more of a front yard at the Duck household; most of their decor was confined to the porch and inside the house, which was fine, but he occupied his mind as he hammered away with thoughts of what he could do if he had as much space as Scrooge did. Inflatables were his favorite of the ideas.

“Oy!” hollered Scrooge, breaking him out of his trance. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m putting the signs up like you asked!”

“Not like that, you’re not! They’re too neat. Try mixing them up a wee bit.”

Mixing them up? Donald mouthed incredulously, though he still began pulling the stakes from the grass. He assumed Scrooge meant less orderly and more random, although he didn’t think they were particularly “neat” to begin with. Either way, he resigned himself to Scrooge’s bossiness just for the sake of getting it done; the best he could do was try for a general idea of what his uncle wanted. He had barely begun moving a red, green, and gold sign that read “Jingle all the way” before he was snapped at once more.

“A little to the right, lad! Now, just a tad back. No, the other way! The way you’re facing! Right, right, there you are!”

Donald hammered the signpost into the ground and as soon as he was finished, marched over to Scrooge. He took the half-detangled lights from his hand and replaced them with the mallet.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” quipped Scrooge.

Since Scrooge had already powered through most of them with surprising alacrity, the lights were quick work and fairly straightforward. And with McDuck occupied at either side of the property, there was no reason for the two of them to be bickering with one another. Once left to their own devices, they even glanced at one another occasionally to make sure everything was alright, offering reassuring nods and maybe even affirming smiles. When Scrooge was done with the signs, he wordlessly took a light strand and got started on the candy canes opposite Donald. Their tasks were completed much faster as they operated in silence.

Finally, both of them stepped back to admire their handiwork. By no means was it fancy or even really above average, but no one would believe they were passing Scrooge McDuck’s house. With its homespun Duck touch, the mansion looked cozier than ever. Donald couldn’t help but take pride in what they accomplished, and neither could Scrooge, who gave him a well-meaning smack on the shoulder.

“Would you look at that! Not half bad, lad.”

Donald beamed. “Thanks, Uncle Scrooge.”

“But I cannae help but wonder if there’s something missing.” He pointed thoughtfully at the door. “What about hanging something there? A wreath, maybe?”

Donald inhaled sharply- he had just about forgotten. “I tried to find one while I was out,” he threw out as he pulled out his watch. “They were all out, so I’ll have to look again when they restock.”

It was only 12:35. A sigh of relief escaped his beak; he was way ahead of schedule.

“You’ve got somewhere to be?” He looked back up at Scrooge and noticed the billionaire’s eyebrow was raised. A bead of sweat fell down the side of Donald’s face.

“Oh, uh... I’m... just working an odd job downtown. To make some extra money for the holidays.” It wasn’t entirely a lie- simply a paraphrased version of what was really happening. Right?

The response began as a small hum of what seemed to be understanding and a slight nod. Scrooge audibly exhaled and for a moment, Donald wondered if he might have been disappointed. “Alright then, lad. You best be going, then. Don’t want to be late, do we?”

“Of course not, Uncle Scrooge.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Donald had meagerly hoped that Glomgold would be thrilled that he was there not only on time but over an hour early. He was, in fact, the opposite. He was already shouting about Donald’s audacity for showing up at his door without warning and how when he gave a time, he meant it. At least he kept his word about the payment.

Glomgold hadn’t even bothered to get the decorations ready or have one of his many staff members take care of it; everything was piled up in the main hall and looked to have been there for several days. There were boxes that had toppled over and not been picked up, ornaments that had rolled out of the fray and across the floor, and some containers that had dents in them from where they had seemingly been kicked. It was already apparent that this was going to be a much bigger job than he had just done for Scrooge and longer, too, because there was no way he was going to coax an already bilious Flintheart into helping him.

He didn’t even have any place to start. There were no decorations already up, and when he asked what was wanted, Glomgold offered little more than a “figure it out” before retreating into his study. Donald didn’t entirely mind being given creative liberty, yet he had a feeling deep in his heart that he didn’t have nearly as much freedom as he was being led to believe. Either way, his only choice was to swallow his pride and get to work.

The rest of the afternoon and into the evening was one of the worst work experiences he had ever had the displeasure of having- and he had had many a rotten one. He arrived at around 12:45 and ended up at the manor until approximately 8 p.m. In that time, he redid the decorations he had worked so hard on a grand total of three times.

It wasn’t the workload or the time it took that bothered him, but rather the lack of respect on the part of his temporary employer. Whenever Glomgold broke away from his study to check in, it was always to nitpick, to berate, to demand he do it again, do better, with no other instruction. He would slam the door when going back indoors, which almost always knocked decorations of some kind down; there was one time when the ladder Donald was using shook and almost fell to the ground, the only saving grace being that the duck was quick to catch onto the gutters for stability. That was the third time he had done it, and the time that helped Donald realize it was intentional.

Scrooge was obnoxiously discrete, but by the second time Glomgold had demanded he take everything down and start completely from scratch, he desperately missed his uncle’s criticisms.

By the time 8 o’clock had finally come around, Glomgold seemed absolutely indifferent about the grueling work Donald had diligently put into this round of decorating. As he worked, the worn decorator came up with the most intense, inspiring speech he could in the event that he was told to do it again. He was actually rather disappointed that he wasn’t and what somehow made it even worse was that Glomgold didn’t even say he liked it. He just told Donald his job was done, and he could go home.

Donald’s exhaustion became fully palpable when he sank into the driver’s seat of his car. Each and every muscle he had used begged for rest and he could barely keep his eyes open and focused on the road. He didn’t even remember most of the ride home.

He more fell into the doorway than stepped. The triplet nephews were already in bed by now, but he could see the living room light on where Daisy, who was keeping an eye on them, was still awake. “Daisy, I’m home,” he half-whispered as he shuffled towards the quiet sounds of the television.

He heard the voice before he saw the face. “How was your workday, lad?”

A jolt of energy sparked through Donald’s body. He looked up and there was Scrooge on the couch, arms crossed like a parent waiting for a teenager that was out past curfew. “Uncle Scrooge? Where’s Daisy?”

“Oh, I sent her home. You said it yourself, she’s just been working so hard lately, I figured she’d want a break. Besides, I want to have a little chat.” Scrooge patted the seat on the couch next to him. Very carefully, Donald approached and sat down. “How was old Flinty?”

“How did you-?!”

Scrooge scrunched his face up in morbid glee. “‘Word travels fast in Duckburg.’” He half-sighed, half-chuckled. “After you left, a certain someone left a voicemail on my answering machine. Oh, that mountebank was just dying to tell me that he got my nephew to work for him. Real proud of himself. I didn’t even make it through the whole message, I was so angry with you. I almost marched down there myself and dragged you back home!”

“... But...?”

“Well, Duckworth heard through the grapevine that his decorator had quit after a series of disagreements. A whole lot of foul behavior out of that man.”

“It’s because he’s awful!” Donald finally snapped.

“Which is exactly why I restrained myself.” He leaned in and firmly gripped Donald’s shoulder. “Learned your lesson, did you?”

Donald festered in it for a moment.

“‘Yes, Uncle Scrooge. I’m right sorry I worked with your arch-nemesis, Uncle Scrooge!’”

“Oh, fine! I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry! Now, can I go to bed? I’m beat.”

“Just one more thing.” Grinning, Scrooge held out his hand. “Give me half of what he paid you.”

“What? No way!”

“Och, well now I’m never going to forget the sting of your betrayal-”

“Shush up, you old geezer, here!” Donald slapped fifty out of the hundred into Scrooge’s hand. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Aye, we’ve all got something to be ashamed of. Now, you best be getting upstairs. I overheard the bairns planning to pull out your decorations tomorrow morning.”

Donald buried his face into one of the couch’s pillows, Scrooge’s cackles echoing in his ears.

#fanfiction #disney ducks #disney ducks comics #ducktales #ducktales 1987 #i know the characterization is kind of wacky here but bear with me!!#i'm kind of generally combining the characterizations from different adaptations #hence why glomgold is scottish and not south african #also this is my first short story in forever!!#the last one was a drabble that i posted in april and ended up deleting #i don't think i've written a legitimate story since my be more chill era #anyway #sorry if this is kind of a rough start but i'm hoping it lets me jump into the other stories!#also i promise scrooge and donald actually like each other they're just both very stubborn #scrooge mcduck #donald duck #flintheart glomgold #not me forgetting to tag the characters the first go-round #christmas #duck the halls

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