Work in Progress: Study of a Mad Golfer

Inspired by Work in Progress: Study of an Evil Genius by purplegirl761. The idea and concept goes completelyto her-I just changed around our main character! I'm a Duff fan, so I thought I'd try this lovely fan fiction idea with him. I don't think I'll go up to 100, but I'll try my best. :) Most stuff is going to be made up, since we really didn't get to see many episodes with him, therefore not getting many situations or information to write about. The one-shots will be random, ranging from as a wee laddie, to his mad golfer days. Hope ye like it, me lassies and laddies!

I'm giving it the highest rating, because certain subjects will be brought up later. And sorry to any Scots out there if I mess up some kind of information or something like that. I'm not Scottish.

Also, I'm sorry I'm not the greatest at talking through a child's point of view. This first chapter is supposed to be, as will several other chapters. I'm working on it! It's a skill I am determined to master!

Haggis

Four-year old Duff Killigan stared at his bowl of dinner in confusion. What the heck was this stuff? It was a round ball of a green-brown color, and it smelled of...well...he really didn't want to think about that. For the sake of his mental state, his ma didn't tell him the contents. Just said he was supposed to eat it. Said that everyone in the Killigan family ate it. It was a traditional Scottish food.

Hm...traditional. The word lingered around in the four-year old's brain for some time. It had a funny sound to it. Funny like the time Will got rammed by that goat. He was crying and everything.

Nevertheless, the word stuck to his brain, and he didn't know why.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that the word swam around his family's castle like a fish, when it wasn't caught and eaten by the fam. He could remember his ma saying the word over and over again when she dressed him in this weird outfit he was wearing now. It had an obnoxious green and red pattern, and reminded him of what his sister usually wore.

Speaking of his sister, she plopped right across from him at the old wooden dining table, dressed in her little pale blue woolen dress. She looked so pretty.

And his brother-his annoying big brother-scurried like a rat into the kitchen, sat across from him and next to his sister, looking excited. Could he honestly be excited for whatever it is he was supposed to eat?

Duff's mother placed two bowls in front of her children, also filled with the traditional food of Scotland, their home land.

His brother dug in like a wild beast. He and his sister watched him in amazement.

"Don't eat too fast, Will." Carol chirped. Her voice was that of a bird-soft, sweet, and delicate. "You'll get a tummy ache."

"You can't get a tummy ache from eating too fast, Carol." Will protested, speaking with his mouth full of the strange dish.

"Sure ye can, brer." Carol spoke. "I've gotten plenty of tummy aches before."

Little Duff spoke up for the first time in the argument. "I think I'm gonna getta tummy ache just after eating this anyway...what is it?"

"I think momma called it haggie or something. She says to eat it, so I'm gonna try it!"

Carol Killigan scooped up a spoonful of the green-brown food in her bowl. She lifted it to her nostrils, sniffed it, then put the spoon in her mouth experimentally.

Duff watched his sister with amazement. He watched her expression as she chewed.

"Ye know, it's really not that bad." Carol said, finally swallowing the 'haggie'. Will continued to scarf down his dinner with no proper manners, whatsoever.

Duff cringed as he looked into his bowl. Why did it have to smell like that? Heck, why did it have to look like that?

Carol and Will stared down their brother. Wasn't he going to try it? Ma and Pa might get upset if he didn't...and especially Gram. It was her recipe, after all.

Hesitantly, little Duff scooped a spoonful of this mysterious haggie. He put the spoon in his mouth.

Hm...Carol was right. It really wasn't that bad. It wasn't that different from what he usually ate. Actually, it was pretty good the more he ate it. Better than anything he's ever tasted, really. Ma had set the table with some neeps, and some tatties to eat with the 'haggie'. Will grabbed the bowls and served himself greedily.

Despite his brother's horrible animalistic manners, he could understand the enthusiasm behind eating this stuff. He was still curious what was in it...but, all in all, he didn't care. It couldn't be anything bad, because it just tasted so good...

The three Killigan children ate their dinners, as Belle Killigan stirred the pot of haggis over the antique, black coal stove inside the small dark kitchen. Allan and Cathella Killigan entered the kitchen; Allan, in his gruff and husky demeanor, and Cathella in her small, delicate, and weak form.

Allan saw his children eating. More importantly, he spotted his son Will scarfing down the traditional Scottish food. He approached him with determination and slapped his child on the back, hard.

"Tha's me boy!" he chuckled. Cathella smiled happily at her grandchildren, enjoying the haggis as she knew they would.

Duff continued to eat the haggis, and wished he could eat it every day. When he asked his father what it was, really, Allan simply chuckled and ignored his son's questioning eyes. Belle looked to her son, however, with a soft and caring, thoughtful expression. She put a hand to his small back, gently.

"It's fro' the sheep's heart, liver, lungs, and is' go' onion, oatmeal, some spices, and some stock...maybe when ye older, Duff, Gram could show ye the recipe. And when ye old enough, maybe ye could make it yeself."

"Really?" Duff squealed. Oh, boy! Oh, boy oh boy oh boy!

Little Duff imagined being all grown up, living in his family's castle, making haggis for him and his maybe-possibly-future family. He'd have a wife, and some kids, and his Ma would stick around, too, as his kids' Gram, and and and...Carol would be there to help celebrate whatever it was they were celebrating. Or she would just be there anyway. They could all eat haggis every day. And his Pa would be there, if he wanted. And maybe Gram, if she was still around.

But not Will. He wouldn't be invited.

"Can't we all learn the recipe?" Carol asked. She turned to Will, expecting him to ask for it, too. He was too busy shoving haggis in his mouth. Duff figured his brother would grow up by himself, in some house he had to buy (unlike Duff, and maybe Carol, who would live in the family home), never having learned the 'haggie' recipe, eating...eating...American food.

Heh, heh. That would be a funny sight to see. Will...eating American food. Living in America. Throwing away the highly praised traditions of their homeland. He deserves it.

Duff felt funny about wishing Will practically out of the family, so it would just be him and Carol, and Ma and Gram and even Pa. But he just hated him so much. Watching him, acting like a wild animal, just made the Scottish lad cringe inside. Duff's father began reciting some poem by some poet with a last name that had to do with fire; a famous poem all about haggis. Completely devoted. Duff reminded himself to learn it, too. So he could recite it to his kids when they try the yummy dish for the first time.

"Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race!Aboon them a' ye tak yer place,Painch, tripe, or thairm:Weel are ye wordy o' a graceAs lang's my airm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,Your hurdies like a distant hill,Your pin wad help to mend a millIn time o need,While thro your pores the dews distilLike amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dicht,An cut you up wi ready slicht,Trenching your gushing entrails bricht,Like onie ditch;And then, Oh what a glorious sicht,Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:Deil tak the hindmaist, on they drive,Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyveAre bent like drums;Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,'Bethankit' hums.

Is there that ower his French ragout,Or olio that wad staw a sow,Or fricassee wad mak her spewWi perfect scunner,Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu viewOn sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him ower his trash,As feckless as a wither'd rash,His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,His nieve a nit:Thro bloody flood or field to dash,Oh how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,The trembling earth resounds his tread,Clap in his wallie nieve a blade,He'll make it whissle;An legs an arms, an heads will sned,Like taps o thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,And dish them out their bill o fare,Auld Scotland wants nae skinking wareThat jaups in luggies:But, if Ye wish her gratefu prayer,Gie her a Haggis!"

Duff and Carol clapped happily when Pa finished reciting the poem.

'Oh, yeah,' Duff thought. 'I'm going to learn that!'

Will finished eating, finally, and looked up from his empty bowl with disappointment and sure signs of a tummy ache, just like Carol promised.

'She said it would happen! She said it! Heh, heh.'

Pa sipped a glass of whiskey and chuckled, again. He saw his son, who was holding his tummy, and making a face.

"He is very irresponsible when it comes te taking care, ye know?" Carol whispered to Duff. He grinned, laughed a bit, and nod his head.

Allan Killigan pounded his fist on the kitchen table, breaking Carol and Duff's little whisper and snicker fest.

"Don't be talkin' about ye brer. Ye should be respectful te ye Gram's cooking like he!" he roared. A splash of whiskey flew out of his glass and hit the table.

'Respectful? What? Will? But but but he doesn't care a thing about the Killigan family traditions! The only thing that he likes is food and poking and bothering me and being the funny one and the liked one and...

He couldn't help it. Duff started crying.

Little Carol pat her little hand on her big brother's back.

"S'okay, brer. Pa didn' mean it like tha'!"

Pa huffed and chuckled, again. He seems to chuckle a lot. He got up from the table and went over to Ma, who was giving him a surprised and severely frightened look.

"What are ye looking a'?" he growled, lessening the distance between their faces.

Everyone was silent. Everyone knew this kind of situation. It's happened before.

Four-year old Duff Killigan buried his head in his bowl of haggis. He felt something tingle inside of him-he feels like he's found something that he really likes.

The haggis, yes, but also the idea of tradition. Why didn't he realize he liked it before, when his Ma dressed him up in his very first kilt, sporran, and Ghillie shirt? Hm...maybe it had to do with the fact that the kilt and the sporran and the Ghillie shirt didn't taste like the best stuff he's ever had. But that didn't matter. Little Duff realized then and there that tradition was something he respected, unlike Will did. Will was corrupted. An evil little brother. It was like the evil monsters were inside him and asking him to act so cruel.

Frankenstein. The Angel of Death. Any of those spooky stories Pa would tell before bed time...

It's settled-Will's evil. Mentored by the evil Frankenstein monster to be evil himself. It made so much sense.

Or maybe Will was a werewolf in disguise! He could have been bitten by one when going off alone in the woods one night (because that's such a William Killigan thing to do) and transformed into one...that would explain why he always acts like an animal when he eats!

Oh yes. It's all so very clear now.

Duff held back his tears and finished his haggis. The sweet taste filled his brain, and covered up where the pain was at. He really liked haggis, now. Made the pain go away. Duff made a mental note to eat haggis more often.

Carol looked up to her brother with sad eyes. She tried to smile, but it only made her look sadder. She just looked so lonely, and lost. Duff frowned.

Haggis. Oh, haggis.

Duff asked for more.