In Pace Requesciate

This is a short fanfic I wrote in school today. It's about the reformed Ratigan paying his last "respects" to his father, Alan Ratigan.

"In Pace Requesciate" is Latin for "May he rest in peace". For all you Poe fans out there, those are the final words of "The Cask Of Amontillado". (I've read that story many times in Pre-AP class at school.)

The title is supposed to be ironic, since Ratigan hates his real father, because he was an evil serial killer. (Dontcha just love irony?)

Originally the date on the tombstone said "Born 1869-Died 1880", but Megana pointed out that I had made him too 11 years old! My bad!

So I changed the date. Sorry for the little goofy!

(Sorry, Meg. I couldn't think of a better term other than "serial killer". I'll try to fix it soon, I promise.)

Ratigan & Basil (C) Disney.

Mouses Fiennes & Alan Ratigan (C) me. Please don't use them without asking.

Enjoy the story!


Today I stand at your grave, Father.

Father...I call you that title, but only out of respect for the dead.

I never knew you. I don't even really know why I'm here.

As I speak these silent words to you, I gaze at the engraving upon your tombstone...

Alan Ratigan

Serial Killer

Born 1859-Died 1880

And the final words on the bottom, "R.I.P."

Rest In Peace. In Pace Requesciate.

How I jeer at those words.

My mentor Mouses told me you loved me. But you didn't. You left me to die in an alleyway.

Mouses told me Basil Of Baker Street killed you. Another lie. Basil would never kill anybody. Mouses killed you in a fit of rage.

I thank God (& my lucky stars) for that.

I wish I could change that final word to "Pain". It would suit you more.

Rest in pain, dearest Father. It's what you get for being so evil.

I am good. I am reformed. I don't need Mouses, & I don't need you anymore.

Basil is my father now. He's all I'll ever need now.

I kick your tombstone out of hatred. Hatred for all things evil.

On the tombstone, I gaze at the mocking irony of the last three words one final time before I head home to Lower 221B Baker Street...

...Where I belong.

Cheerio, Daddy dearest. May you forever rot in the flames of Hell.

And forever may your cold corpse rest in pain.

In Pace Requesciate!


Hope you enjoyed the story!

Please read & review, but NO FLAMES, please!