Duckshots!

Someone I used to know! (Drake)

17 Ducktales
Drake

The movie set looked exactly like he remembered. He would've sworn it was a dream, or he had gone back in time except the sets were much farther along than he had gotten in filming. He was so enamored with the production he almost didn't notice the young duck that bumped into him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Mallard. Here's your coffee," he said, voice shaking. He held up a drink but didn't make eye contact. "Again my apologies."

The man pushed the cup into his hand and ran off. He shrugged and took a sip. It was the best drink he had ever had. Still, the caffeine did little to jog his memory. He remembered Jim breaking in and the explosion. Nothing else. He walked around, looking around. He was glad Gosayln had taken his advance and spent the night at McDuck's.

"Who are you and what do you think you are doing wearing my suit?" A familiar voice came from behind him.

"Your suit?" He spun and was face to face was his mirror image. He was so stunned that his improve skills left him. He couldn't even manage to say he was Darkwing. "Drake. I'm Drake Mallard."

The man chuckled sarcastically.

"Cute, a fan. You caught me in a good mood. So, word of advice, whoever put you up to this is not your friend. I would also advise you to take my suit off immediately." He looked at the coffee and snatched it. "Give me that."

Drake didn't move. His mirror image raised an eyebrow. He shifted and looked towards the costume set. Slowly, he made his way over to the racks. His copy watched his every move. He grabbed a discarded purple hoodie from a pile and stepped into a changing booth.

Drake watched the copy of himself from the crack in the door. His double was well dressed; he wore a purple blazer and black undershirt. He also looked really impatient. He grabbed an employee that walked by and pointed at the booth. Drake jumped back from the crack.

"When he is done, make sure to bleach that suit," the copy spat, before stomping off.

Drake changed and slipped out of the changing room. He shoved the suit in a duffle bag and pulled on a black hat with the word "staff" stitched into it. He hid behind the crates and film equipment. Clearly he was in some mirror dimension where the fame had clearly gone to his head. He didn't even have to hide. Everyone that got a peak under his hat bowed away. He was going to kill Gosalyn when he got back.

He walked outside and attempted to make his way pasted the actors' trailer. Someone walked up directly to him, making him stop. They were wearing a blue sweater and a purple scarf and looked important. He hid his face with the hat.

"Pardon me. Do you know where Drake is?"

He stiffened. He knew that voice; it was Starling. He pointed towards the trailers.

"That way. I think," he grumbled, attempting to hide his voice.

"Drake?" Jim asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, making him look up. "What are you doing out here?"

Jim started pushing him towards the double's trailer. He pushed the door open and Jim made himself at home on the fancy couch. The place was so unlike his trailer. It was so bright it hurt his eyes. The slick white walls held a single Darkwing suit with his own signature at the bottom. The vanity was covered in makeup, stacked neatly in rows. A TV played MTV's soothing jazz station. The whole place smelled like cinnamon, which was the most appealing thing about the place, but it made him want to gag.

"So tell me, how's it going? I have hardly heard from you. More importantly, why are you in a hoodie?" Jim chuckled.

This was like a dream. Jim had never wanted to talk to him, while onset, or ever. Now Starling was well Negaduck. To have him back and have his full attention was breath-taking. It was hard to form words. He wanted to cry.