The Beagle Birthday Massacre

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"Not everything."

"Wait, what?"

"Ducktales will be right shhhhhhh... enough time shhhhhhh... chores. Please, somebody shhhhhhh."

"No! No, no, no!" I ran up to the TV and noticed that the HDMI cord was chewed almost through. "B/N!" I yelled, opening the cabinet under the TV to find a tangle of cords. "Your stupid bird chewed through the TV cords again!"

I managed to find the right cord and plugged it into the TV. The picture came back into focus and the static went away. The commercials were just ending.

I sighed and rested my hand on the screen. I suddenly felt dizzy. I closed my eyes until it passed, but when I opened them, I wasn't in my house anymore.

I was on a pier. Behind me was a tall building with a sign that said Funso's Funzone.

"Funso's?" I said aloud. I took in my surroundings. "Duckburg? McDuck manor, the money bin? WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON!?" I realized people were staring and quickly walked down the pier towards the beach.

"Ok. You were watching the series finale when the TV stopped working. You fixed it and now you're in Duckburg. How is that possible?" I stopped walking. "What am I saying, this is awesome! Why do I care how it happened?"

I kept walking until I came to an abandoned amphitheatre, where I could see a duck who seemed to be around my age sitting, throwing glass bottles into the ocean.

"Lena!" I said way too loudly. She turned around and stared at me.

"How do you know my name?"

"I, uh-"

"How do you know my name?" she repeated, standing up.

I didn't have a good excuse, but I was saved when Webby came walking up, picking up the glass bottles as she came.

"I'm here to save either a sailor, group of sailors, or a shark from a sea serpent, pirate invasion, and/or scurvy," Webby said.

Lena glared at me, then turned to Webby. "What? No, no, those are from me. I'm just messing around, you know like a game?"

"Fun. Let me try." Webby grabbed a piece of paper, wrote something down, then put it in a bottle. Lena grabbed the bottle and read the paper out loud.

" 'Please recycle this bottle.' Okay, I don't think you get this game."

"Hi, I'm Webby." She held out a hand for Lena to shake.

"Mmm, hey," Lena responded, then Webby turned to me.

"I'm Y/N," I said, shaking her still outstretched hand.

Webby then turned back to Lena. "Is that a vintage Sumerian talisman?"

"Dunno. Found it at a thrift shop," Lena said, tucking her amulet under her shirt.

"You got some pink in your hair. I think someone pranked you."

"It's supposed to look this way."

"Oh. I like your shirt."

"Not my shirt," Lena said. "Actually got it off the lead singer of the Featherweights after a gig in Paris."

"You've been to Paris?" Webby exclaimed, the excitement obvious in her eyes.

"You haven't? Oh, you gotta go. It's like here, only fancier."

"I've always wanted to go to Paris," Webby said, "crawl around in the catacombs, maybe touch a skull. Ha ha." She accidentally knocked the last bottle into the water.

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