recipe for disaster

—“C’mon! If we don’t hurry the best houses are gonna run outta candy!” With the sleeves of his scarecrow costume (a result of Grandma Duck’s generous handiwork) the duckling tugged relentlessly on Scrooge’s own absurd clown costume. “—I bet Della’s already gone through here with cousin Fethry and Gladstone, so we gotta catch up!”

Scrooge’s insistence to stick close didn’t water down Donald’s enthusiasm by any amount but likely did happen to make the duckling a hazard and headache to keep an eye on. To make things worse, about a week prior to the holiday, the little duck twins had struck a bet with each other: who could earn the most candy. Not an uncommon bet amongst children, but with the twins in particular something like that could only conjure up more trouble than it’s worth.

—“DUKE BALONEY, huh?” He tried the name on the tongue, though nothing struck him as familiar as the duck’s physical appearance – something Donald just couldn’t quite place – an unusual feeling in the pit of his gut. “---NOPE – doesn’t ring a bell, but I must’a seen ya around before. Name’s Donald Duck!”

He reached his hand out to shake the other’s; though thankfully the concept of shaking one’s hand clinging with chum and seafood not disconcerting him as much as it would any other person. Though the smell, even as much as he was used to it, still wasn’t pleasant.