#naiiled-iit

[mcduckheir-blog]

“It’s not my fault being the biggest and the strongest. I don’t even exercise.”

The Princess Bride sentence starters || @naiiled-iit

“Dewford, you’re literally built like a twig. I could sit on you and you’d break.”

[unclescroogie]

Night

@naiiled-iit

“It’s a little late to be up, don’t ye think?”

Scrooge’s words were calm, quiet, almost gentle. Curiosities that fluttered through the air. The faint glow of one light and a handful of candles being all that illuminated the dining room. He wouldn’t send the boy back to bed… Perhaps there was a reason why he was up, perhaps there was something wrong. Whatever it was he couldn’t turn him away. The boy wasn’t his child after all, although he would definitely encourage that he go return to his room soon enough. ‘Don’t stay up too late… You’re Uncle Donald would have a fit if he found out…’ He could practically hear himself uttering those words in his brain, an image of himself walking away to return to his room. Or perhaps that wouldn’t happen at all, perhaps they’d just be here the entire night, or conversely, the old man would be.

From where he sat, he stared at the boy, eyes peering through the spectacles set comfortably upon his bill. The night air, laced with rainwater and the aromas of the scented candles, all created a melancholy feel. Cinnamon and sugar cookie wax that smoked out the scents of the desired fragrance, filling the room with a slightly warmer feeling than that of the outside world. But as thunder echoed far away, in a world far distant from them, it became rather obvious that there was still that musty rainstorm scent that came with the encounter. Memories of Della came to his mind. Poor girl never seemed to be able to sleep, of course that just might be his memory playing him. They would talk late into the night, topics that weren’t ever to be brought up until their next night time conversation, and it was a good way to release stress and strain and open up just a bit.

He didn’t expect anything of the sort from the boy, but even so, it was a memory that came to him as his finger traced the rim of his glass. A habit he has picked up from a woman in the Klondike… A woman from long ago whom he never sees anymore. A woman who he remembered being as much of a rival as a lover, who fought him in his most stubborn of times and held him in his most upsetting. A woman whom he hated her as much as he loved her. She was his greatest enemy because she could hurt him more than anyone else, because she had his heart in her hands– all she had to do was squeeze. In remembering those thoughts he felt himself grow sick, but he never let on. All he did instead was lift his glass filled with a potent fluid, a dark drink that only the adults could drink…

The bottle beside him read out on it ‘Glenalba’. Assuming as such that this was what he was drinking, it would be easy to discover that he was drinking whiskey. He had a glass of wine earlier in the night, but had a craving for something more reminiscent of his time long ago. Of that woman from the Klondike that made him sick, keeping him up late at night to contemplate another adventure with his family, or to think up some idea of grand proportions. As he put the glass back down, he resumed his motion of running his fingers over the rim of the glass. A distracted habit that he felt he shouldn’t always do but he did anyways. But this time it wasn’t just an ancient love that should have died decades ago, it was also the boy that stood there staring at him.

“Did ye have a nightmare? Perhaps jus’ couldn’t sleep?” It really wasn’t his business but at the same time he had grown to love the triplets so much in the short period of time they’ve been with him. He had to look out for them, he had volunteered, by accident, to help Donald watch them after all. He hoped his nephew could find a well paying job in the near future, help the children, and if he couldn’t well then it looks like Scrooge will be starting to put family into needed positions in his company. He was able to, so why not start with the one who needs it the most it seems. His finger gently tapping on the glass brought him back to reality once more, no time had passed.

The sound of thunder booming from the outside enticed him to say one last thing before allowing the boy to talk. “Ye can tell me anythin’ lad, or ye can just sit quietly and not say anythin’. Whichever suits.”

((If you don’t want to reply to this starter/you prefer to plot before RPing feel free to IM me, I wont be offended or upset. These starters are here solely to cut out that middle man known as awkwardness.))