we're just two black holes, dancing with each other

your boldness stands alone among the wreck

“Ye cannae stop me now, McDuck!”

An aggressive snap of a twig under a forcefully heavy step.

“Shut it, Flintheart, now is not the time for yer confounded competitiveness.”

Approaching the horizon, the shorter duck felt victorious as he made it to the beach before the other did. Ignoring Scrooge’s lack of enthusiasm, Glomgold celebrated his triumphant victory by throwing his hands in the air. Forgetting he had a large but hollow log in his grasp he cursed as the wood fell on to his foot.

Scrooge only shook his head as he stepped on to the sand, dropping his own rather large chunk of wood that had luckily fallen over away from his feet.

“Whatever. You were just saying that because ye knew you would lose,” Glomgold preened, kicking the log away from himself as a small show of dominance.

There was no follow-up to Glomgold’s remark. The Scotsman had no energy to spare and was resolved to collecting anything useful that he could find. He turned away and headed back into the forest, his shoulders hunched forward and his hands clasped into fists at his sides. His spats were damaged, one of them almost completely torn, moments from slipping off his foot. His glasses and top hat were missing, lost to the sea only seconds after entering it. He didn’t have his coat and was left in his singlet. The quicker he took it off to dry the quicker he could have his coat back. It’s more than Glomgold was willing to do. He was still fully dressed, excluding his spats and tam o’ shanter, the water clinging to his feathers and clothes remaining damp.

Glomgold could have just sat on the log and let Scrooge do all the work. He wasn’t obliged to help him, but it wasn’t necessarily helping if he made a game out of it. Besides, he wasn’t going to let there be any chance of Scrooge proving he was the better Scottish billionaire; doing nothing is the same as surrendering. He followed Scrooge into the forest, keeping his distance. He was well aware of Scrooge’s agitation and usually, he wouldn’t care and would continue to pester him, but this time he couldn’t push him too far, he needed to use him to build the shelter.

The older duck stopped to pick up several large sticks, bunching them in his hand and resting them over his shoulder as he stood back up. He looked to his side to see Flintheart in the distance, tugging on a vine hanging from a tree. After a final strong pull, it detached and the momentum caused Glomgold to fall back, the dampness of his clothes making them incredibly dirty. Scrooge had an incredulous look, going against his better judgement to speak up.

“What in the blazes are ye doing?”

Glomgold flinched, his embarrassment almost being shown to the other duck but quickly switching his attitude to pride despite being caught with his ass in the dirt.

“Rope!” he spat out. “Y’know, fer tyin’ the wood together.” He picked himself off the ground, untangling the vine from around his neck, almost strangling himself in the process.

An eyebrow raised on Scrooge’s face, an involuntary hiccup of a laugh escaped him. “I would not think, in a million years, that a sensible idea would come from that head of yours.” He turned away again and started to trek further into the forest.

Glomgold’s beak dropped open, a garbled noise quickly cut short almost escaping his throat. A low growl took its place as he took leaping steps to catch up to Scrooge. He had the vine wrapped around and hanging loosely on his shoulders like a necklace. Combined with his wet clothes, he was carrying extra weight that he was not used to and the sandflies were another nuisance that was tipping him over the edge of his breaking point.

“Well, excuse me, Scrooge, fer not being smarter than the smarties, Mister High-and-Mighty! Who’s to say smarts isn’t subjective, I could be smarter than you!”