#gallic

Is so canon she knows that song. So i made a little scene, for that, is just pretty and sweet idea!

It may be because I've just rewatched The Great Mouse Detective which was a childhood gem and still is. But would D.G Gallic and Daroach have an obsessive hate relationship with each other and they want to try and best the other at their own game to the point of toxicity similar to how Basil and Ratigain had? Oooor would it just be more one sided with Gallic because Daroach is chill.

It is just a humourous thought to think that either one of them would have a voodoo doll of the other that they just stab with needles.

Daroach and Gallic’s relationship is rather… complicated to say the least.

Gallic cannot stand Daroach, he wants that man deader than dead. Our mustached friend (or fiend if you will) sees the thief as nothing more than a petty coward who holds back just so he doesn’t get his claws too dirty. A huge softie who thinks that making meaningful connections with others will save the cretin from the loneliness he feels deep down, YUCK! So what if some of the people he cared about are gone? Can’t that mangy rat get over it and move on already?

Then again, nothing’s stopping him from joining them…

Daroach on the other hand can never trust Gallic even if he wanted to, especially after he literally and figuratively stabbed him in the back. Maybe if he was successful with stealing that accursed rock from him without getting caught then he probably could've... But it's far too late for contemplating "what ifs'' and ''might've beens'' even if Gallic was like a brother to him before everything went downhill.

Although he doesn't despise the assassin as much as he definitely should, a part of Daroach misses him deep down and he hates it. Why does he still care for someone who might as well have taken everything away from him and left him for dead?

What a varied word is “gallic.”

A metal made of miracles,

A citizen from ancient Gaul,

“Gallic” speaks of many things,

With little rhyme at all.

Of Frenchmen, young, old and all,

Or acid from the sumac’s gall;

Of a rare trivalent metal

Which from Heaven may as well fall.

But to say you have no words,

A fib as sour as spoiled curds!

When all these many tongues

Are so beauteously absurd!

Yes, you must have quite the gall,

Or a head shaped rather phallic,

To brush past the beauty of such words