#miilkywrites

A/N: DTFamWeek #2…DUCKS. Here is a small dash of itty bitty Donald and Family. Huey, Dewey, and Louie got their trouble making tendencies from someone, and it wasn’t Scrooge. Poor Cousin Abner

Abner was going to be in trouble. He was going to be in more trouble than he ever was and ever was going to be. He didn’t have time to think about that now. He curled his wings around his beak and shouted, “Fethry, where ya’ at?”

“Fethry!” The name was repeated at loud, desperate volumes across the farm. Fethry! Where he could have gone, Abner wondered. He had taken his eye off of him for a second. All it had taken was that single second, and toddler Fethry was gone the next.

“He isn’t in the chicken coop,” Donald huffed.

“He isn’t in the pig pen.” Gladstone scrunched his face in disgust, “But I did find this extremely rare coin, says Grandma.”

“Seriously.” Donald glared, “You’re worrying about some nickel when Fethry’s missing!”

Gladstone pulled back as if slapped, “Course not! Just sayin’ I found it. He was not in the pig pen.”

“He ain’t in the kitchen!” Gus honked and shoved the morning’s breakfast into his mouth, “Checked the basement too – ain’t there.”

Not in the chicken coop. Not in the pig pen. Not the basement. Not in any of his favorite hidey spaces in the house. Abner started to wheeze. This was not good. What would Grandma say? What would his parents say? He didn’t want to imagine their expressions, the horror, the shock, the disbelief – no, the guilt.

He needed to find Fethry.

“We haven’t checked the barn.” Donald suggested, sensing their eldest cousin was about to enter panic mode, “And we haven’t seen Della, y’know.”

Gladstone’s eyes widened, “We haven’t,” he tapped his beak thoughtfully, “where’d she say she was going again?”

“I don’t know.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“We need to get to the barn.”

The three ran with Gus not too far behind. At a distance they heard the distant cries of amusement and potential danger, and Abner felt his heart throb painfully in his chest. Della was clever and daring. Fethry was odd enough to try almost anything.

Della and Fethry? Della and Fethry. He swung the barn door open, “Fethry, Dels!”

Gladstone was the one who pointed up, “Look, there they are,” and Abner directed his attention to the top of the barn, “wow, they’re really high.”

“What are they doing?” Donald panted behind them, “Dels, what are ya’ doing?”

Abner didn’t have to think hard on it. Della had somehow crafted a makeshift plane out of the old materials left in Grandpa’s shed. Fethry stood behind the makeshift plane as Della, ill dressed for her first flight, readied the controls.

How? He didn’t have time to ask how or when or what before he screeched, “Della Downy and Fethry Humperdink!”

They peeked over their work, seeing their brothers and cousins below, and they shared an uneasy glance, “Hi Abner, what ya’ doin’ down there?”

“You know what I’m doing!” Abner shouted, “Now, come down y’all. We were lookin’ everywhere for ya’.”

“But we’re not finished yet!” Della said. Fethry added, “We oughta test it, Delsie.”

“That’s a really bad iea,” Donald shouted.

“Like a really bad one.”

“You’re agreeing with me.” Donald faced Gladstone who shrugged his shoulders indifferently, “Grandma’s gonna be mad.”

“Not after she sees this!” It was possible Fethry was not the one who pushed the self-manufactured tale. His fingers brushed gently against the metal, not so much to force it forward, but gravity’s fiddle played its part.

The boys screamed in terror as she and her machine propelled towards them, propellor spinning. They broke apart, Donald and Gladstone to the left and Abner to the right. Landing in hay, they watched in dumb shock as the plane didn’t reach its predicted hot, rolling into the corn stalks. Chicken squawked, pigs squealed, and the goats graze disinterestedly as the makeshift plane came to a loud, rackety stop in the middle of the corn field.

There was shocked, terrified silence. Abner pushed himself up, confused as to where he was supposed to start.

Smoke trailed up from the corn field’s center, “I’m okay! Engine’s busted though!”

“She lives!” Fethry cheered.

Abner glared sharply.

“I come down now.”

“Yeah, you should.”

Abner rubbed his eyes. His heart rate decreased steadily, “Donald, you and Gladdy take Fethry to the house. I’ll drag Della out.”

“Are you sure ‘bout that, cuz?” Gladstone tilted his head towards the corn field, “You might need some luck to get that thing out…or to not destroy all Grandma’s crops.”

Abner thought, “Donny, take Fethry to the house. Gladdy, you come with me.”

Donald was about to protest until he saw the wired tiredness in Abner’s face. He gripped Fethry’s hand, “I’ll get you some strawberry, milk.”

“With pickles?”

He winced, “Yeah, sure, whatever you want, Fethry.”

In the corn field, Della stumbled out. They all watched her snatch her goggles and hat off, covered in black smoke from head to toe, “Oh come on, that made good distance!”

“I’ll get the tin tub too,” Donald whispered to Abner.

A/N: I need to put a reminder somewhere about he dates. I had a lot of fun with this one. Auntie Magica FTW!

“I loathe you.”

“Aw, that’s not nice.” Poe cooed as he bounced Lena on his knee, “She’s only a baby, and accidental magic happens Magica.”

“It happened to you.” A broom came to life at the snap of her fingers, beginning to sweep away the broken dishes scattered across the floor, “I had to learn, work to acquire my grand spells, and if you leave her like that,” she jutted her finger accusingly at the baby, “you’ll regret it.”

Lena grinned at the finger and bit down on it, “ ‘Gica,” she murmured as saliva wrapped around Magica’s finger.

“Ugh!” Jumping back, she glared in disgust at her finger, “As I was saying, you should begin lessons as soon as possible.”

“Accidental magic happens, Magica.” Poe strode to the kitchen with Lena on his hip, “You can’t teach a year old magic.”

“Only the unmotivated can’t.” She crossed her arms defiantly, “And to think you call yourself Grande Stregone of House of DeSpell.”

He pointed at the broken dishes and watched them repair themselves. Quietly, carefully, the fragmented shards molded back together and hovered to the kitchen table.

Lena clapped her hands at the sight.

Magica huffed, “You see, she is impressed, and one day she will be the next Grande Stregone!”

“Ah, you sound like Nonna Silvia.”

“Be wary of your words, fratello,” Magica warned, taking a seat at the table.

Poe sniffed haughtily, a bright gleam rising over his eyes, “As long as you are, sorella.”

Lena giggled. Poe laughed. Magica sighed, and she opened her arms for the child, “Just prepare her lunch, so she may give me peace!”

“Fine.” Handing her Lena, Poe chuckled at his daughter’s new position. She nestled her face into the crook of Magica’s neck, and sighed softly, closing her eyes as she drifted off to sleep.

“But her lunch -,”

“Shhh.” He pressed his fingers to his beak, “She has gone to sleep without trouble, cherish it.”

“But you can’t leave me like this!”

Poe chuckled, “Aha, but I can - watch.”

In a puff of smoke he disappeared.

Welp, at least it’d make sense for Artemis to do what I am planning for her to do, right, @donaldtheduckdad?

a.k.a Miilky does research on hemlock for fic purposes

Taken directly from the US National Library of Medicine/National Institute of Health

The general symptoms of hemlock poisoning are...

Effects on nervous system; stimulation followed (stimulation followed by paralysis of motor nerve endings and CNS stimulation and later depression), 

Vomiting

Trembling

Problems in movement, 

Slow and weak later rapid pulse

Rapid respiration, 

Salivation 

Urination

Nausea

Convulsions

Coma 

Death

Cure? There ain’t no cure for HEMLOCK...seems to be a relatively painless way to die. Painless? Alright, Socrates.

From what I’ve read so far, those who have ingested hemlock and survived were treated for the vast symptoms that started taking place. 

One case where one poor unfortunate soul ATE A LOT OF IT, they survived through this, treatment, “The patient survived due to treatment with haemodialysis, haemoperfusion, forced diuresis and artificial ventilation. The cicutoxin molecule size was calculated and it was found to be dialysable.”

How do I translate that into incorporating hemlock into a magical spell that goes as well as you expect it to? I don’t know, but I am going to find out.

Woo-oo.