A Father’s Wrath
Drake glanced down at his watch for probably the fiftieth time since he had been directed to sit down in the too-small chair outside the principal’s office. How dare she call him here on such short notice, claiming that Gosalyn had been ‘causing problems,’ and then make him wait. It was already fifteen minutes after he’d arrived, and well, although he didn’t really have anywhere he needed to be until that evening, it was the principle of the matter.
It was while Drake was still chuckling to himself about his mental pun that she finally opened the door to her office and said, “Mr. Mallard-McQuack, please, come on in.”
Drake shuddered at her sickly sweet voice - it dragged him back to the days when he himself was constantly trapped within the confines of the cinderblock walls of an elementary school. He felt his skin itching, desperately wanting to exit this prison of flashbacks and memories.
“Uhhh,” he looked up at the principal, a formidable heron whose stature rose high above Drake’s own. She was well built - Drake couldn’t help but note that she would have little trouble overpowering Drake Mallard-McQuack. Darkwing Duck would have a few tricks up his sleeve that would leave him on top of the fight, however. Drake steeled himself, willing the words to not just pop out of his mouth. Asking Gosalyn’s principal who she thought would win in a fight was not exactly the way to make a good impression.
“Words are a commodity that we’ve worked very hard to perfect, Mr. Mallard-McQuack. Why don’t we try using some of them?” She smiled down at him with a glint in her eye that Drake felt suggested that she was winning this battle.
“My apologies,” Drake grumbled, staring down at his feet as he walked into the office. He knew that he was only there because of one of Gosalyn’s stunts, but he felt as if he were personally being called up to the principal’s office all over again - out the window went his bravado in the face of someone he couldn’t win a verbal fight against.
“Very well.” Her words were curt, proper, and targeted. She sat down at her desk, straightened out her name plaque, and crossed her arms in front of her, leaning forward to direct her piercing gaze directly at Drake.
“What seems to be the problem, uhhh, Mrs. Strongbill,” Drake asked, glancing down at her nametag afterwards, and hoping with every fiber of his being that he hadn’t said her name wrong. He was in luck, for once, as he did indeed get it right. Hera Strongbill - a formidable name for a formidable foe.
“Well,if both you and your husband could show up for parent-teacher conferences, you’d be in the loop. However, since you neglected to show up last time, and I do believe your husband’s excuse for you was, ‘He is definitely not in the sewers or anything,’ whatever that may mean, I must explain all over again. Your daughter is a bit of a… problem-child.”
“She is not a problem child!” Drake lost all inhibition, standing up from the chair he had been slinking in to slam a finger on the desk as he spoke, “That child has been through more than you ever will, and she deals with things in her own way. Now, I know for a fact that sometimes she gets… carried away, but that doesn’t mean she’s anything less than a genius. Have you seen her grades recently?” His eyes widened. What was he doing? Oh goodness what was he doing? He couldn’t yell at the woman who was in charge of his daughter’s fate…
He looked down at Mrs. Strongbill, who had lit a fire in her eyes as she barked, “Have a seat, Mr. Mallard-McQuack!” Before Drake even had the time to react, he felt his bottom making contact with the seat behind him. “Now, as I was saying before your explosion, your daughter, albeit one of the smarter kids in this school, is a problem-child.” Drake grit his teeth, staying seated despite the fact that literally every inch of his body was crawling to defend his family. “She got caught today sneaking a rat into one of the boys in her class’s backpack. Explain to me, in civil words may I add, how that is not a problematic action.”
“Well, uhh,” Drake stared down at his lap, tugging on his pink and purple plaid shirt, “She’s not one to sit by and take flak without giving at least some retaliation. Have you, uhh, looked into what spurred her actions?” Drake really did try his hardest to sound sophisticated. It just wasn’t in his nature. Sure, he was cool and collected as Darkwing. He was a loving family man who had quite literally the most perfect family in the world as Drake. He was quite the suave fellow either way. None of that helped him in this scenario, however. Puns wouldn’t get him out of this, and the only instance in which he could even hope to be a wordsmith was when he was cracking jokes.
“We are not of the mindset to blame the victims in this school, Mr. Mallard-McQuack,” Mrs. Strongbill said, staring down the length of her beak to give Drake a look that made him once again feel like this was his own personal trip to the principal’s office.
“If you’re trying to not blame the victim,” Drake started, grasping the armrests of his chair as hard as he could to keep himself firmly seated in his chair, “Then what are you doing blaming my daughter?”
“Your daughter, Mr. Mallard-McQuack, is not the victim in this scenario. She is the one who brought an animal into my school, with the intent to use said animal to harm another student. No matter what he has done to ‘incite’ this wrath of your daughter’s, she is the one who has committed an infraction, not him.” Drake was just about ready to get back up and start yelling at this lady again. Who did she think she was, with her fancy prose and holier-than-thou attitude. Yes, Gosalyn had done something outside the confines of the rules, but Drake was very certain that the boy in question deserved it. They’d had their talks on when it was okay to retaliate and when she should just ignore what was happening, and he knew that some form of bullying had gone on to spur this reaction.
“She has spirit,” Drake said through gritted teeth. “She has a spirit that cannot be beaten down by the bullying that you and her teachers turn the other cheek to.” Drake stopped himself, and it was a hard stop. He was ready to lash out again, to tell her that his daughter deserved more than what she was getting at this school, and he had half a mind to move her to a school where they’d actually take care of her. A school where he wouldn’t have to stress every time he dropped her off that she’d come home with a detention slip, a black-eye, and the news that the one who started the fight got off scott-free. But no, instead, Drake slumped back into his seat and said, “My daughter is not a problem-child, Mrs. Strongbill.” His words were sharp, but he left them simply at that.
“Despite what you may think, Mr. Mallard-McQuack, your opinions of your child do not dictate what is fact. Need I remind you of the times she has gotten in actual fights? Or the time that she walked out of class with another student? What about the time that she ripped another student’s assignment to shreds? I could go on, but I’m sure I’ve said quite enough.” That was it. Drake wasn’t just going to sit there while she threw all this slander on his daughter’s name. He’d tried Launchpad’s tactic of being nice to the ‘scary principal lady’ so that she’d go easy on him, but he wasn’t going to sit by for one more second of her insulting his little pumpkin.
“She has gotten in fights in which the other children have hit her first. When Launchpad and I confronted you and your god-awful administration about it, you said there was nothing you can do. She took Honker out of class with her because the other kids wouldn’t leave the two of them alone, and the teacher did absolutely nothing about it. She ripped up an assignment because that child, a real problem-child mind you, had forcefully copied it from her friend. My daughter might not go about things in the conventional sense, but everything she does is to protect herself and those around her.” Drake hadn’t realized that he’d stood up again until he realized that he had been pounding his fist on the meticulously organized desk of the principal. He was beyond the point of caring, however.
“Mr. Mallard-McQua---”
“Where is my daughter? Her and I are leaving, and there will be no arguments from you.” Drake stormed towards the door, not even trying to hide his pure, unadulterated rage at this point. After so many times the school had failed his little girl, they were trying to turn everything around on her and on his and LP’s parenting.
“Very well, Mr. Mallard-McQuack, but she is not coming back to this school until next week. The lady at the desk will be able to give you the paperwork for her suspension, which I do hope you understand.” Her voice was grating on Drake’s nerves. He slammed the door to her office open, ready to just storm out without another word.
Of course, classic Drake, he couldn’t just walk away without confronting her further. “I hope you understand that I’m taking her to go get ice cream when we leave, and she’ll learn so much more hanging out at the mansion for a week than she ever will here!” Drake smiled a little, proud that the words that had escaped his mouth were not his initial thought of, ‘I hope you understand that you’re stupid.’
Drake stormed up to the desk, paused for a second to collect himself, reminding himself that this nice duck at the desk was not the one that he was furious with, and he said, “I’m here to pick up Gosalyn Mallard-McQuack. And I’m here to pick up her suspension papers.”
The duck gave a solemn nod, no doubt having heard most of the discourse from the office, and she said, “I hope you two enjoy your ice cream day. She’s already sitting right outside the office.” She handed Drake the papers, which he promptly folded up and shoved in his shirt pocket.
He walked out of the office doors with a triumphant, “C’mon muffin, it’s ice cream time!”
“I’m not in trouble?” She asked, looking up at him with a hesitant smile on her face.
“Of course you’re not. Little girls who are in trouble don’t get ice cream, now do they?” His smile was wider than it’d ever been as he scooped her up in his arms, despite her protests that she was old enough to walk.
“Darn,” she said, once her giggling protests had stopped, “And I had all this time to brainstorm excuses that I don’t even get to use.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Gos, you don’t need silly excuses with me and LP. If you’re in the right, we’ll defend you. If you’re in the wrong, your excuses will never work.” Drake smiled down at the little angel that was in his arms, his heart just about ready to explode from the love he held for her. “Now let me call your dad and see if we can’t get him to meet us for some celebration ice cream.”
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