Chapter Text
A short duck wearing a gray trench coat holding a purple mask entered a bar, slouched, then sat down on a bar stool in front of the bar. An older duck that was balding looked over toward him while in the middle of washing a table. He cleaned it with a clean rag and put that away, picking up the bucket with the wet rag, walking over to the bar.
"Bad work day as a private detective, Private Detective Griffith Edgepear?" He was concerned at the slumped duck as he got Griffith a drink.
Griffith set the purple mask on to the bar then sighed.
"You're right about wearing a mask at night while sleuthing, Mr Mallard." The words alarmed the older duck. "It's a bad idea all the way around!" he stretched his arms out momentarily then rested them on the counter and sighed. "People get the wrong picture."
Griffith's voice was quite low in his response then sipped from the cup.
"It has helped your identity as a private investigator quite secretive and successful." The older Mallard paused what he was doing. "But, being caught in the middle of a investigation by goons hasn't stopped you."
Mallard put the wet rag away then took out a clean one then proceeded to dry it off. They were quite alike, easily mistaken for father and son, separated by the bar. One was a bony and skinny duck with a heather gray beard, wearing gloves nowadays, warm orange shirt, blue overalls which looked more like the outfit that a janitor might wear than a bartender.
Their voices sounded quite similar except one of them was significantly older.
"The truth is..."
Mallard cared for the bar at night after all the activity had transpired with all its messiness with discussions, smiles, the background chatter, fights, cheering, and laughter. He was the same height except unlike Griffith, he had balding hair instead of curled hair.
"I got jumped by a duck in a black mask a few nights ago while tailing a cheater..."
Mallard turned his back then finished cleaning the glass cups on the familiar perch.
"Called himself Negaduck, mocked me, insulted my fashion, called me dorkwing, and oh, shoved me out the window! But not before he told me to investigate some place, gave me some coordinates on a slip of paper. Said it would be quite interesting."
Mallard stopped what he were doing, freezing, his gaze on the table, then slowly lifted his gaze up as the younger duck spoke.
"Luckily for me, the dumpster softened the fall!" Griffith laughed, cheerfully.
Mallard shifted toward Griffith as he looked quite skeptical.
"How was this Negaduck character?"
"A little desperate, frantic, and very confusing"
Mallard leaned up as his brows raised in alarm.
"Was he solid? Did he leave behind ectoplasm? Did he float?"
"Just as solid as this bar."
Griffith knocked on the counter then rested his elbows as Mallard stared at him in confusion and his beak slightly fell.
"Anyway, I followed the lead. Lead me to a renovated warehouse actively being used. I explored a bit... but... Doctor Waddlemeyer was there... in front of a strange machine that was glowing red in the room. A room that was labeled Reality Altering Mechanism."
"Are you sure about that, Griffith?" Mallard's voice was lowered.
"The duck who appeared six months ago in the middle of my case scared half the life out of me," Griffith pointed into his chest. "Dead certain! He called my name out!"
"Oh..."
Griffith looked aside for a moment as Mallard finished washing the counter.
"There were these tall ducks in dark brown suits with egg shaped helmets and fancy visors guarding the place. I got caught." Griffith exhaled as the older stared back at him while his features fell looking upon him. "Unfortunately for them, I was able to escape." then he added. "Barely."
The aged duck looked upon Griffith, his brows raised, drying off the counter.
"How did you get out?" His voice was full of concern.
Griffith looked back up.
"A chicken in a fancy suit snatched me, older guy, had a entirely steel beak, acted like we knew each other, after the ducks left, he asked me why it took me so long, told me to go and shut up, and--" he leaned back, shaking his hands, even his head. "it was very contradictory," he set his hands on the bar. "and the only person I can tell is my friend Gosalyn's dad."
It was quiet between them for a solid moment as the older duck stroked his heather gray beard until pouring a glass then swung it back toward him.
"What ... else ..." Mallard leaned forward, interested. "did this chicken say?"
"He said Ramrod scared the living shit out of him." Griffith recalled.
"That's really peculiar."
The aged mallard withdrew as he tapped on his beak then turned away rubbing his beak and walked on toward the field of tables.
"You know him from the days when the myth was being made?" Griffith turned away from the table facing Mallard.
"He invaded a camping trip that one time with my daughter." His aged voice carried a grave tone. "And Darkwing Duck isn't no myth."
"If he weren't then wouldn't St Canard have some videos, newspapers, not some old costume in a museum with props? They're all from that 90s show."
"Based on his exploits." was the counter argument as he quickly cleaned the tables, rushing himself, and wiping them off with a clean rag.
Griffith scowled then cupped the side of his beak and lowered his gaze. Mallard put away the rags and dumped the bucket then went to the closet where he remained for a rather short while. Griffith shook his head then looked down upon the cup as he mulled over what to do taking the occasional drink from the cup every so often. Griffith remained seated there hunched over staring down toward the bottom of the glass almost searching for something that wasn't there.
"I can't go to the federal government or to the Justice Ducks without evidence so that leaves me with only one outcome."
The aged mallard reappeared sweeping behind the younger duck without looking up.
"I have to go back and take some pictures."
Now, Mallard had a moment of pause.
"Isn't that... just .... a little ...." Mallard lifted his thick heather gray eyebrows. "dangerous... Griffith?"
"And I have to do it, anyway."
"There's always a third option."
Griffith stared, incredulously, toward Mallard then leaned back.
"I told the police and they laughed at me!" Griffith pointed over his shoulder, bitterly, then frowned. "So not this time."
The aging mallard became concerned as he approached the younger duck with the broom in hand.
"You were mistaken for a duck who wore a purple mask, maybe, just maybe, he isn't a myth."
"If he's real, then why did he stop showing up? Huh? Did he delete footage? Destroy newspaper clippings? Why isn't there anything on Ducktube?"
"A, Megavolt. B, time is very hard on film and paper. And C, he..."
The aged duck looked aside then turned away and approached a black and white framed picture centered above a miniature red biplane attached to a thread. He rested the broom against the edge of the table staring at the pilot that was in the picture bearing the big goofy grin and giving the thumbs up.
Griffith got up from his seat taking his purple mask with him then walked away from the bar but paused in the middle of the walk.
"Lost ducks along the way." Griffith finished for him.
With sad eyes, the aged duck shifted away, approached him then put a hand on Griffith's shoulder.
"He was getting too old to continue fighting crime."
Griffith looked slightly offended by what the older duck was insinuating.
"I am doing the right thing, not fighting crime, Mr Mallard." Griffith insisted as he slid Mallard's hands off his shoulder then clenched them.
"So did Darkwing Duck." was the strained argument.
"You've been a father figure since my dad died in that fire..." Griffith said, letting go of Mallard's hands. "But I'll be okay, and that's all... going. to. work. out."
Mallard withdrew his hands out of Griffith's hands then nodded.
"I trust you, Private Detective, really, but that doesn't mean I don't have to worry."
Mallard put away the broom and dust pan then started off flicking the lights. Griffith approached the door then exited as Mallard put on his green baseball cap and took out the keys from his pocket. The older duck followed suit, locking the door behind him and locking it for that matter. Griffith stared down at the purple mask in his hands as he stepped out then rubbed his hands together in the cold.
"Brrrr!" Griffith said as the older duck came to a pause beside a tree with his back toward him. "It wasn't this freezing."
Mallard laughed then closed the door and hid the key back where it normally went to be opened the following morning.
"It's October." Mallard shook his head with a laugh.
"Roll your sleeves down, you're making me cold!" Griffith insisted.
Mallard blew a raspberry as he walked on heading for the bus stop.
"Bushroot still walks around during the winter months and he doesn't wear sleeves!"
Griffith chased after the older duck with his hands in fists.
"Oh? You've seen the legend?"
"Every night!"
"Where have you seen the guy?"
Mallard halted then pointed at the passing by garbage truck that had Bushroot's face on it that promoted environmentally friendly decomposing trash bags that decayed after a year.
"Over there." Mallard said, smugly.
"Dooo oooh, that does not count, old man!" Griffith vented as he halted in his tracks.
Mallard turned turned toward Griffith.
"Around these parts, it does, son." Mallard replied, between his laughter.
Mallard walked on as the younger man put on the mask turning away.
"Okay, boomer." Griffith said to himself then turned away but stopped upon seeing a miniature biplane resting on the ground and picked it up, remembering a consistent part of the myth, then turned his gaze up. "Mr Mallard!" Griffith began to jog after him. "You dropped your keepsake!"
Mallard stopped then shifted toward Griffith as put his hand into his pocket and searched until finding the gaping hole with his fingers standing out.
"Whoops daisy!" Mallard said, nervously.
"Sir, it just occurred to me..." he handed it over to Mallard who put the biplane into his other pocket. "but... I need someone to let me into the building."
"What are you asking me, Private Detective?" Mallard cleaned his ear out. "Didn't catch it."
Griffith linked his hands behind his back and clasped his wrists.
"To play janitor for awhile so you can let me in and take pictures."
Mallard's head bobbed up in surprise.
"A janitor..." Mallard rubbed his beak as he looked aside. "you say..." His attention shifted toward Griffith. "that's not much different from tending to Mallard's Justice Steaks Bar."