DuckTales: Twins

1

"So, what does this thing do, again?" Della asked.

"It slows things down," Gyro said.

He took out a plate of gelatin, set in on a table, and poked it. It wobbled kind of fast, and Della swayed along with it. Gyro aimed his laser at it, and it shot out a beam of green light. The gelatin slowed down its wobbling, and so did Della. She appeared to be entranced by this.

The elevator door opened and Donald came out of it.

"Della, there you are!" he exclaimed angrily, pulling Della away from the table. "You know you're not supposed to be down here! Gyro's inventions are dangerous!"

"I'll be fine, Donald," Della said, snapping out of her trance. "They're not all dangerous."

And with that, she shoved the gelatin into her mouth. Both Donald and Gyro gasped and had horrified looks on their faces.

"Della, you shouldn't have done that!" Donald quacked.

"He's right," Gyro said. "It's another invention of mine. It's supposed to cure illnesses and give you the ability of flight for one hour...but I haven't gotten it perfect."

Della rolled her eyes, but then let out a loud belch. Her face turned green, and her stomach grumbled.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," she moaned.

Donald led her out of Gyro's lab, giving him the evil eye on his way out.

Della was lying in bed. Scrooge looked at her with disappointment.

"She never listens to me," he said, shaking his head. "I remember when you two first came here. She was a shy thing, always hiding behind you. Now..."

"What do you think happened?" Donald asked.

"I don't know," Scrooge said, leaving the room.

Donald sat on his bed, which was next to Della's. He heard her mumble, "Go away."

"Shut up," he muttered back.

Della sat up and threw papers at him.

"Tattletale," she said.

"Dumbella," he said.

This quickly became a physical fight; they both started punching each other and hitting each other with hard objects. After a half hour, Della had messy hair and a bleeding lip, while Donald had a black eye and a large cut on his arm.

"You never let me do anything," Della yelled.

"I've been living a harder life than you, Dumbella," Donald said, out of breath. "At least you're not pushed away by your own friends..."

Della put down the hammer she had been holding.

"Why would you--"

Donald turned away. He appeared to be looking in the direction of his guitar. He had had that thing for a year now, since he got the idea to start a band.

"So, that's your way of winning the argument?" Della asked. "All right, I guess..."

Della hugged her brother. He was surprised at first, but gradually hugged her back.

"Do you want to talk about it, Donald?"

"No."