And We Proudly Present Skippy Squirrel!
Chapter 1
Sudden
Certain Characters are owned by Steven Spielberg and Time Warner; I own nothing but plot, dialogue, and original characters. If I did own the characters, well let's say Pinky and The Brain wouldn't be the only spin-off series. And I'd get the final volume of "Animaniacs!" released for all us die-hard fans!
Hey, two exclamation marks in the same sentence must be serious.
Enough talking - or reading as it is, on with the story.
"Aunt Slappy?" Skippy continued the process of shouting her name and rocking her from side to side. He felt he wanted to cry, but for some reason he couldn't, as though he had forgotten how to and it only served to make him feel far more guilty.
Of course he knew this day would come, not this soon obviously, but eventually. It was shocking, of course all deaths are, but he had expected her to go out with a humongous explosion, literally – not so peacefully into her sleep. Standing beside the still gray squirrel, Skippy stood in absolute silence, almost as unmoving as his beloved aunt save for his chest lifting as he inhaled oxygen. What to do now?
He obviously knew to call paramedics, after all he wasn't the same naïve little squirrel from over ten years ago, but his brain had lapsed into incoherent thoughts and horrible mental pictures of what was to happen next. He ran into the kitchen, not the closest phone in the house but it was the only one to come to mind.
"Hell-"A woman answered, cut off quickly by the scared squirrel.
"I need an ambulance!" He yelled the second he heard an answer. "My aunt, she's not breathing!" He shouted, the tears he felt guilty about not shedding earlier were finally coming. His eyes watered and his voice changed its pitch almost immediately.
"Calm down son, we're going to need your address, do you know where you live?" The woman asked in a tone that belonged to addressing three year olds.
Normally he'd protest over being talked down to, and then after he'd dropped an anvil on the person's foot he would point out that he was almost eighteen, but he had already felt bad about being concerned over himself rather than his aunt earlier, he didn't need another guilt trip. "Tree number eight one seven, third street." He wiped at his teary eyes.
"We'll send an ambulance to you immediately." She explained, switching from her previously kid focused tone to one of more seriousness.
He heard the phone beep, not really sure on what to do from this point, the same exact feeling he had just a few minutes ago. He reluctantly put the phone back on the receiver and lifelessly drifted back to Slappy's room. Tears continued to flow, faster and stronger, the morning light seemed to get brighter too. "What am I going to do now?" He asked, unsure as to whom he was speaking, most likely his aunt. He sat on the edge of her uncomfortable bed and cradled his head in his hands.
Paramedics came and rushed her into their flashing white vehicle, laying the grey squirrel onto a cot surrounded by various complicated machines. They placed an oxygen tank around her mouth before closing the door, one of the men turned to Skippy and asked if he'd like to ride in the back. "No, I . . . I think I'd like to drive down alone instead." He said, ashamed of his answer as he looked at the ground in embarrassment, avoiding eye contact with the man.
"I would too if I were in your position." Said the man, patting Skippy on his furry shoulder. "It's tough to see a loved one like that." He returned to the driver's seat, his partner already seated in the passenger seat; they drove down the dirt path leading back to the paved road, their horn blaring across the forest. Skippy stood there and watched as the ambulance drove away, and remained even after it was out of sight; he was scared to walk back inside the tree, afraid that he'd experience a trip down memory lane. His legs refused to move and for a moment so did his lungs, but he finally worked up enough nerve to step up to the door.
He was right about the memories; they flooded his brain the second he opened the door. Her trusty old mallet lying in the corner, two sticks of TNT on top of it, a stained rug, everything he could see brought up memories of her crazy antics. Skippy grabbed a thin red jacket and the keys to his car, taking one last look at the living room before slamming the door behind him.
He opened the garage door, finding yet another thing to remind him of his beloved aunt, her red car directly across from his '67 Impala. She loved that car almost as much as me. He held back more tears and hopped in his own car, backing out of the garage and speeding off to the hospital, leaving tire marks on the lawn as he went.
He parked the car in the nearest space and ran into the gigantic building, shoving over two old men as he reached the receptionist desk. "My aunt . . ." He paused and took in a deep breath, noticing how badly he was shaking and how high his fur was standing. "She was just brought here, Slappy Squirrel?" He asked the black haired lady with the nail file, who looked to be in her mid twenties.
"Could you describe her, sir?" She asked in a weird tone reminiscent of a Californian surfer girl from the eighties.
Skippy sighed, "Gray hair, green hat with a flower in it, bushy tail." He exclaimed, showing her his own tail in case she needed a visual aid.
"Oh yes, I'll be right back." She said, standing up and heading into a back room, her heels clacking against the linoleum floor.
She returned a minute later with a man in a white lab coat, obviously one of the doctors working here; he looked like he belonged on one of those soap operas or a cover of a romance novel, in fact that was probably a second job for him. "You are her son?" He asked in a European accent.
"Nephew, but she treated me like her son." He said, feeling oddly childish at his answer.
"I'm sorry, but she is no longer with us." He said, euphonizing death. "She was far too gone." Skippy lost all feeling in his legs and collapsed into the nearest chair, staring forward with no expression whatsoever on his face, time had stopped for him, only for him. "I'll leave you to your thoughts," He explained before turning around, "When you're ready to see her, she's in room twenty eight."
It seemed like hours before he was able to stand, and even longer before he was able to actually walk with them, and even then he felt numb. It was odd how almost all hospitals looked the same, long white walls and ceilings, smell of death and old spice, he wouldn't be surprised if all hospitals had the same decorator; and oh how Slappy hated them, always saying that the day she needed a hospital would be the day she died.
It wasn't funny anymore.
Skippy passed other people in the long hallway, some who were crying, other's who had the biggest smiles in the world. Funny how contradictive it seemed for these people to grin, but then again their aunts had probably lived. He reached room twenty eight, pausing to let his despair sink in, with one last deep breath he pushed open the door and entered the deathly cold room.
Little Known Cartoon Star Passes Away in Sleep, Leaves Everything To Nephew. What Will Become of Her New Show?
"Little known?" He said, re-reading the headline, bad enough it's only a blurb in the obituaries; they also have to badmouth her career? He swallowed his anger and continued reading the paper, all it did was briefly mention her, then went into what would happen to her new cartoon show, going into its second season and airing in the next two weeks; it was just one gigantic ad for Warner Brothers. Skippy tore up the newspaper, throwing the scraps onto the floor around him.
He had received everything, her money, her house, her car ("If anything happens to that car my ghost will haunt you!" her will had read on that subject), everything was now his, so why did he feel so empty, as if he had absolutely nothing now? Maybe because he did have nothing, just a bunch of objects that seemed to delight in torturing him with memories of dearly departed Slappy.
Being a 'toon, he was told that there was no specific legal age for him to inherit these things of value, just so long as he was over the age of twelve, and he was an official adult, left to support himself. On a slightly brighter side, he was able to stay in the house he had grown up in, no matter how big and empty it seemed now. Everyone in his family had a tendency to die early, not exactly with the fairytale ending: his mom and dad perished in a car crash and his cousins endured death by dogs. His aunt, well she was an exception; if anything would ever threaten her, she'd blow it up or drive it crazy, which was why it was so odd that sleep would be the thing to take her.
Her perseverance made her the only one left to take care of him after his parents' died, and that same determination she had taught Skippy would probably keep him alive for another seventy years, though a constant thought in the back of his head constantly asked the same question, do I want those years?
God, he hadn't had a suicidal thought in ages, but now it seemed like every other thought was taken up by how easy it would be to just end his misery, the other half of his mental process was taken up by how much he'd hate himself if he did try anything. No! He refused to let depression take over, how Slappy would've been so disappointed to learn of these thoughts, or how angry she'd be, ironically killing him herself.
He didn't even recognize himself, neither physically or emotionally; he hadn't bathed in days and knew his fur was starting to get unkempt. Skippy pushed away all current thoughts and moved to an entirely new set, though they were all in the depressing category.
Her funeral was smaller than expected, with fewer than fifteen people bothering to show up; even sadder was that half of them were her old rivals; the other half was a group of fans that were probably children back when her original shows were running. They all said how sorry they were and gave their condolences to the young squirrel that was left behind. That day was surprisingly sunny, not a cloud in sight, completely opposing his view on how it should have been, dark skies, thunder and lightning, rain and wind.
Skippy sat in the dimly lit room, sitting in Slappy's old chair, the only thing that seemed to comfort him. Yep, this was the life he had dreamed of – not the dead aunt - more of owning his own place, no curfew, no adult telling him that he had to do this or that, just him and any girl he'd bring with him. It was a nightmare, so sad and lonely, how anyone could live alone was beyond him. He turned on the television, then the VCR with a copy of Slappy's old cartoons in it, he pressed play and leaned back in the chair, watching as a younger Slappy threw a bomb at whatever was currently in her way. He leaned his head against his open hand and held back more tears as she occasionally broke the fourth wall and talked to the audience, seeming as if she was talking directly to him.
Meanwhile, a group of men in business suits sat around a shiny wooden table, arguing at each other, save for one man, standing in the corner and peering at the studio lot. "She was the star, there's no way we can continue the show!" Yelled one of the men.
"Of course we can, the show is a ratings dynamite," Argued another, though they all looked almost exactly alike. "Let's introduce David Spade as the pervert cousin and keep going!"
"That never works!" Another declared, tapping the table with his index finger, "We need to bring in James Garner as the wise old man!" He explained.
"Will you all just shut up!" The man in the corner had shouted, finally speaking. He was chubby, with slick black hair and eyes that people said could make you do anything. "You," He pointed to the closest man. "Did you find out who this nephew is?" He asked, his voice quiet, but still unnerving.
The man looked shocked, as if he hadn't expected being asked any questions. "Ugh, oh yes." Thoughts returned after he lost eye contact with the standing man and he reached for a tan colored file within his suitcase. "His name's Skippy, use to co-star with Slappy in a recurring skit on a show, "Animaniacs", got out of the business a few weeks after that though, and hasn't done anything since." He explained.
"What's he like now?" The man asked, turning back to the window.
"Physically or psychologically?" He asked, "We have reports on both."
The man remained silent, not moving or turning. "Both." He mimicked.
"Physically similar to Slappy back in her heyday, though with brown fur and a more masculine figure, taller too." The man paused, turning the page as quickly as he could. "Mentally, he was never as off the wall as Slappy, but he sure did try back on "Animaniacs." It's also well known that he deeply respected and depended on her, so this information may be irrelevant considering her passing."
"What's this have to do with anything?" Asked one of the men. "You're not honestly thinking to replace her with him, there's no chance he'd say yes."
"Quiet." Window man ordered. "Why has he stopped acting?"
The meek man returned to reading the file. "Not much is known about that, all we could find was an old interview saying he lost interest."
The man turned to his fellow associates, all of whom winced when he looked at them. "Get me the company limo; I need to talk to this Skippy Squirrel." He replied before walking out of the room. No one was sure who he was ordering to find the luxury automobile, but none wanting to find out, rushed to use their phones. "Nobody loses interest in this profession, nobody!" He shouted from beyond the door, making everyone in the room jump.
Skippy turned off the television after having watched every tape of his aunt and officially had nothing to do now. Either he could go to bed at four-thirty in the evening, or he could re-watch all the tapes. He opted for the latter and turned the T.V. back on. He pushed back on the reclining chair and watched as his aunt appeared on the screen, inside a gigantic red circle as it was common for most cartoons of that era to start.
A knock on the door pulled him back into his lonely real world and – while sighing with aggravation, he reluctantly answered the door. "Yeah, what do you want?" He asked, opening said door to see a tall and chubby man standing before him, slicked black hair and a pair of sunglasses that were meant to make him look cool, but failed horribly. Though Skippy figured he really wasn't much to look at either considering he hadn't bathed in a week since his aunt's death.
"Skippy Squirrel I presume." The man greeted.
"You presumed correctly," He said, forcing as much sarcasm as he could into it without sounding juvenile. "And you would be . . ."
"Jonathan Saunters, head of development at Warner Brothers studios." He offered his hand.
Skippy stared at it as if it was on fire and returned his scowl to the darkened lenses covering the man's eyes. "Good for you." He rubbed the back of his head with his right hand. "If you've come to pay your respects, she's buried out in-"
"I know where she's buried." He interrupted, making it sound as if he knew everything else while he was at it. "And I've already paid my respects." He continued, this time giving a tone that sounded like it was a burden to visit a headstone.
"You're not making any good impressions here." The squirrel explained, prepared to slam the door. "I'm not in the mood for games, so either you tell me what you want or I can slam this door and never look back." He began to close the door when the man shoved his foot between it and the wall.
The man glared at Skippy and removed his sunglasses, melodramatically in the squirrel's opinion; he had aqua blue eyes that seemed to analyze almost everything in a nanosecond. "Being her nephew, I'm sure you've heard of the Slap Happy Slappy show."
"Yeah, I've heard of it." Skippy, rather than invite the man inside his home and risk him criticizing what bad shape it was currently in, stepped outside, closing the door, though he was still able to hear an explosion or two coming from the Slappy cartoon on the television. "And I've also heard your bringing it back for a second season, but how you're going to do that without the main star is beyond me." He said, looking from the man to the overgrown lawn he needed to cut.
"It's been done before; ever hear of "Bewitched"?" Saunters asked, licking his lips as he looked around his surroundings, giving an unimpressed look when he finished.
"Yeah," Skippy said, knowing that if he had any interest it would be rapidly decreasing.
"Darrin was replaced and no one bothered to care. How about "Three's Company", they had a woman named Lana that left with no explanation whatsoever." He smiled, flashing a set of shiny white teeth that deserved to be used on a dental commercial rather than in the mouth of this man, who clearly used them to eat whatever came in sight.
"Listen, I'm still not hearing a point and discussing shows from the past generations isn't exactly on the top of my to-do list so if you don't mind, I'm going back inside." He turned to the door.
"What? Go back and mope over your dead aunt, or maybe you can watch her cartoons some more." The man shook his head as if he was Skippy's disappointed father, which only served to anger the squirrel. "I'm guessing this is the first time you've stepped out of that house since her funeral; you think that's what Slappy would want? Her only living relative becoming a sad excuse of what he used to be?"
This was another push to send Skippy over the edge, his grip on the door knob loosened and he quickly turned back to the man, faces an inch apart, Skippy jabbed his finger at the man. "You do not talk like you know what Aunt Slappy would want, so get off my lawn and out of my sight." He ordered, determined not to blink.
"Fine, I'll leave, but not before I tell you what I'm here for." He pushed Skippy's hand away, placing a business card in said hand the second he was able to. "We want you to step into your aunt's role, take over as the lead star, kid."
Skippy at first was shocked, but regained his anger and simply scoffed at the idea, waving the hand without the card in the air. "Even in the slightest chance that I wouldn't be offended at your offer, I gave up acting years ago." Skippy, giving one last glare, repeated his process of turning to the door.
"Yes, my associates never found the reason behind that." The man shrugged before putting his sunglasses back on and walking back to his black limo. "Shame really, that cartoon was making Slappy a household name again." He said, waiting for the driver to exit his seat, walk around the car and open his door for him. "But I suppose she'll just fade back into the shadow of Bugs and Daffy." He entered the car, waving as the driver slammed the door.
Now the man was playing dirty, Skippy knew it, he was throwing out his aunt's reputation as bait for the ready-to-defend squirrel; Skippy didn't know what was worse, the man assuming he was gullible enough to let that get to him, or that it was working. He suppressed the urge to turn around and strangle the suit wearing man and walked back inside, slamming the door in frustration.
"Now that's comedy!" Declared his young aunt from within the television screen as her current cartoon ended, soon to be replaced by yet another, or so he thought.
The screen turned to blue as the tape stopped and began to rewind, and that being the only source of light in the entire house, it turned the entire living room into the same bright blue color. Skippy pressed his back against the wall and sighed in exasperation, thinking over the things he had just heard. His aunt had wanted two things before she died, for Skippy to grow up into a fine young man, and to be a famous cartoon star one last time.
"Little known cartoon star, twelve people at a funeral, turning her into a household name again." He repeated, summing up most of the prologue in one sentence. Skippy looked at the business card, debating internally on what to do from here. With another sigh, he stuffed down his pride and walked into the kitchen, turning on the light to see one of the dirtiest kitchens he had ever seen, plates stacked high in the sink, moldy foods lying on the counter beside it.
Skippy reached for the phone, recoiling back in slight uncertainty.
"Not yet," He muttered to himself, something he had grown used to in this big empty house. "First I think of demands." Skippy declared, the rules of being an actor burnt into his mind from his career ages ago, he looked back into the living room, then at the disgusting sink; in a rare moment of clarity, the squirrel walked to the sink and began to clean the dishes.
He had been out of the acting business for years now, but the information was always fresh in his mind, preparing for the dreaded day he had to return to acting, how he hoped that day would never come though. He knew that you never make a move without planning the steps that would follow, he knew that you should never take an executive on their word, but most importantly he knew that contracts always had loopholes that could turn around and bite you in the . . .
His aunt Slappy had taught him all this the third week he had moved in, during one of his first, and unexpected auditions.
First chapter, reviews are welcome, but flamers can take that **** elsewhere. I'm sorry if Skippy seems out of character but there are two reason's for this.
A) His personality was always changing, from immediately acting like Slappy (I Got yer' Can) to reluctance over using her techniques or advice (Bully for Skippy) and the only thing that always remained was how much he adored Slappy.
B) He and his aunt never really got to many spots, not as few as Rita and Runt or Chicken Boo, but certainly not as many as Pinky and the Brain (though to be fair those two got a great spin-off).
Second chapter coming soon.