Chapter Three: Roger's First Job in Toon Town

"That was wrong of him," Jessica bluntly said.

Roger shrugged. "I confessth my first alcohol experience gave me the williesth!"

Jessica raised a brow and Roger, for some reason, read her question easily in her eyes.

"Pa wasn't a drinker and Ma made it clear she didn't want me drinking alcohol." He scratched his head. "Come to think of it, I think they knew what alcohol does to toons."

Roger smiled at the photo where a black duck was frozen into a dance. "That time, I thought Daffy was just being a capricious creep! A jolly jerk! A beanheaded bully! A wackheaded wisecrack! A-"

Jessica gave him a gentle poke on the shoulder, snapping him out of his atrocious alliterations.

"But given enough time, you'll realize everything Daffy did was calculated."

XOXOXOXOXO

Roger woke up to the smell of fried eggs and toast. Coffee wafted in the air.

He rolled over and yelped with a crash.

Good morning, gravity.

Roger groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His blurry vision slowly focused and he found himself in a wild nest of props pandemonium.

At least that was what Wile called them last night. What are props short for, anyway?

He turned around to make his bed before remembering Wile had set up a hammock for him.

"I do apologize for the inconvenience," Wile said, tugging the hammock's knot tied on the pillar. "Since every part of the floor is occupied; we have to utilize every space we can –air space included."

"There!" he said with satisfaction at the Falconer's knot. "I am such a genius!"

Roger glanced at the other empty hammock before turning at his surroundings. He hadn't asked, but he's pretty sure Wile lived in a storage house fit for a hoarder's dreams.

His hand smooth over a cabinet, the pink sensitive pads of his palms and fingertips feeling its surface. The metal cabinet wasn't too cold, in some way, the warehouse was heated. There is no dust indicating Wile definitely lived here.

Everything that could exist seems to have been pushed inside as though to fill the warehouse to the brim. Cars, chairs, boulders, safes, anvils, cactuses, rubber chicke-

"Good morning, ol' chap," Wile said, poking his head out of a section of the room. He waved a hand to his left. "Bathroom's there, breakfast here, and catastrophe everywhere. On you go!"

Another thing about Wile, he sounded like an English man (if radio voices were to be believed) even though Roger was pretty sure there were coyotes in Mexico, America and Canada only (if his childhood animal books were correct).

After washing up, Roger awkwardly sat down in the kitchen table. Wile hid an amused smile as the rabbit tried not to gawk at the stove, the oven and pretty much everything.

"It's obvious you've never seen toon appliances before," Wile remarked. The kettle whistled in agreement.

"I'm pretty sure our toaster doesn't stare at me when I eat," Roger replied, tilting his head as the toaster blinked at him. He lifted his mug which grinned at him. "Are these toons too?"

Wile shook his head. "My boy, you have a lot to learn."

They ate in silence. Roger was relieved that at least his toast doesn't have a face. If he eats a meal with a face, would that mean he would be biting its eyeball in the process?

He casted another glance around him once more. If he closed his eyes, it would feel like any other kitchen. The warm coffee smell, the clinking spoon as it stirred inside the mug, a radio chatting up a symphony in the homey atmosphere.

But everything looked different even though everything's the same. Roger frowned at his mug. He couldn't put a finger on it. It's not just the appliances and wares making faces at him.

"I do apologize for the mess, Roger," Wile said. "The company said I could have a flat or a facility –but not both."

The rabbit waved off his apology with his ears.

"Thanks for letting me stay and for the meal, Wile."

The coyote gestured him with his cup of coffee as he chewed.

"Hey," Roger said, "Do you know anyone who is looking for a hired hand?"

Pa said the best plans are the simplest, so his plan was this: 1.) Find a job, 2.) Find a place to stay and 3.) Look for his parents. Today was a good time to start; he'd rather not to impose on Wile.

The coyote paused, racking his mind. He shook his head.

Roger shrugged. He could always ask around. With the war over, jobs were abounding.

"Wile," Roger asked, warming his hands on his mug. "How come you hardly talk last night?"

The coyote drank down his coffee. "It's an artistic statement."

When Roger continued to stare at him, he sighed. "It's because I'm a man of action," he explained patiently.

Roger's whiskers twitched. "Really?" he asked, suddenly curious of what toons do in Toontown. Was it the same as in Kansas? "What do you do?"

Wile's yellow eyes swivelled to him and Roger suddenly saw something akin to a spark in them.

"What do I do?" the coyote asked, slowly rising from his chair. "Let me show you around!"

Before he knew it, Roger was swiftly yanked off his chair and dragged away. He looked at the coyote pulling him effortlessly, bewildered. For someone who looked like fur and bones, he had a surprisingly strong arm.

"Since the dawn of mankind, man had been obsessively painting on cave walls, jars and temples, trying to imitate life –imprint it. Jump forward to 1900s when we've got artists waking up to the very idea of actual drawings in motion like newly born babies opening their eyes for the first time-"

Wile continued to blather on but Roger wasn't paying attention. His eyes were drawn to the posters plastered on every available spot on an entire wall of the storage house.

Large fonts and enlarged characters tried to fight for his attention only to be upstaged by another. Felix the Cat Uses his Head. Steamboat Wille. Another New Popeye Comedy. Betty Boop and Bimbo.

Here and there were splashes of colored posters: Flowers and Trees, Snow White.

They were striding so fast, Roger failed to read most of them.

"Hey, is that-"

Wile looked over his shoulder to see Roger looking at "Porky's Duck Hunt."

"Ah, yes. Daffy's first film. I think he was amused that you didn't know who he was."

Roger's ears twitched. Daffy looked the size of an actual duck in 1937. That must have been some growth spurt. He tilted his head, almost with childlike wonder.

"I've heard about films. But I never watched one before."

Wile gave him a sideways smile with intelligent canine eyes. "Your town must be quite quaint. Theatre houses are abounding this days."

A glaring owner blocking the entrance, flashed inside his mind, waving him away. Angry voices of Pa and the owner echoed along with the confused sadness of the unexpected rejection.

"Something like that," Roger muttered.

He turned around to see more posters with Daffy's face in it. "So Daffy's an actor?"

"Oh, he's more than that," Wile said smoothly as he walked the length of the wall with a gentleman's grace. "Here."

Roger tilted his head at a logo of Daffy riding a flying missile with fierce determination.

"Daffy was also a 600th Bombardment Squad mascot and war veteran," Wile casually said, waltzing on with both hands on the small of his back.

Roger's jaw hung open. "Whoa..." he said, before catching up with the coyote. "But he acted so..."

Wile laughed at his reaction with a knowledgeable smile. "Looney? Don't be fooled. One doesn't become one of Mr. Schlesinger's biggest stars by being a complete and total daff."

The rabbit stared into space as his brain processed the newfound information. The manic eyes Daffy wanted him to see. The calculating stare that he finally revealed. He opened his mouth to ask-

"Oh, and here's one of Sylvester," Wile said, waving a hand on another poster.

A chuckle reverberated in Roger's throat at the image of Sylvester running away from a blue jay. "Are you also an actor, too, Wile?"

The coyote raised a brow. "Would be, but I'm in no particular hurry," he replied.

He tapped his head as they walk past by more posters.

"Now, where was I? Ah, yes. The artists mastered the craft of pictures in motion. Stop animation, comic sequences –no one came close until Winsor McCay let Gertie the Dinosaur out in the theatres in 1914! He was so close to creating life but he created a turning point for the other artists. He showed toons can be. Until in 1919, they finally evolved with Felix the Cat in the lead-"

Gradually, the posters bragged cartoon shorts "in technicolor." The Debut of Thomas Cat. Woody Woodpecker. Tom and Jerry. Wile was still talking when Roger finally pried his eyes away from the posters to pay attention to him.

"-they were fascinated! It was unlike anything they have encountered before! The moviehouses sold tickets like mad! Everybody wants to meet a toon! But as the artists became diverse in their talent, so did the toons. Some can do what others can't and vice versa! When Technicolor become available, people were astounded by the music, by the colors, by the sheer impossibility being possible! Roger, you have no –Roger? Roger?"

Wile whipped his head around to see that Roger was gone from his side. The rabbit was far behind.

Roger stared slack jawed and wide-eyed at the "Wild Hare" poster, its paper curling yellow with age.

The coyote walked back to him. Wile silently stood beside him as he observed Roger's expression, confused by his reaction.

"He's also a rabbit," Roger said, his voice filled with wonder.

Wile raised his eyebrows in surprise. What could have been this rabbit's life, not knowing there are others just like him?

"His name is Bugs Bunny," the coyote said in his most diplomatic voice. "One of Mr. Schlesinger's biggest stars."

Roger's ears twitched at the tone of Wile's voice. It resonated with utmost respect.

"Are there other rabbits like me?" he asked, looking at his furry hands. He never saw anyone with furry hands like his. Unless he counted their house cats a dogs. But Roger got long fingers instead of paws and claws.

Are they just as tall as him? What are the colors of their fur? Do they also have big feet?

Wile waved his hand off. "Toon woodland rabbits, anthropomorph rabbits, many. They're very popular to humans."

The coyote noted the sudden grimace appearing on Roger's face. He decided not to point it out.

"Didn't you see the other rabbit posters?" he asked, pointing at the black-and-white section. "Oh, wait. We're too far already. Here, I keep one in mint condition."

Wile suddenly produced a poster from behind him and unfurled it.

"Oswald the Lucky Rabbit in Trolley Troubles" stood brazen in large fonts as-

"Those are rabbits?" Roger asked, tilting his head. Then he grinned, "They look more like puppiesth!"

Wile rolled his eyes. "Don't let Mr. Oswald hear that. I heard he's been bitter ever since he was overshadowed by his little brother."

Blue eyes widen in curiosity. Who knew there are so many rabbit toons? "Who?"

"Mickey Mouse," Wile replied.

Roger looked at him in confusion.

But Wile talked on as though he hadn't said anything strange. He furled the poster and it disappeared behind his back.

"As I was saying, as the artists became more diverse in their styles, so did the toons."

He began to tick off his brown furry fingers. "MGM wolves can transform into whistling steam engines to demonstrate their lust but others can't. Popeye can punch through anything but others can't. We, Warners, can shrug off almost anything but others can't. Disneys can hear an invisible beat, a rhthym, you may say, that others can't!"

His arms gesticulated in the air, "How come some toons can do what others can't? We know what we can and can't do, but how do we do it? What's the logical explanation, the mechanism behind all of it?"

Wile's head whipped towards him. Roger startled when he suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, eyes burning with excitement.

"No one had ventured in that road before. Not even the artists! We're in the dawning age of a new era for toons; there is so much to know!"

Roger couldn't tell half of what he's saying. What do artists have to do with toons, anyway? But the fervour coming from Wile himself was infectious that he grinned excitedly himself, nodding in encouragement.

Wile led him to a curtained section. "You asked me what I do for a living."

With a dramatic flourish, the coyote yanked down a rope for the curtains to reveal a floor-to-ceiling drawing board. The green surface was almost white from chalky diagrams and equations that Roger couldn't comprehend.

Although he might have seen what looks like a stick figure being bludgeoned by what look like a fat version of a hammer.

"Jeepers!"

Wile smirked. "I'm pioneering the science of Toon Physics."

He walked inside the area and Roger followed.

"Thankfully, the Toon Town hall has permitted me to keep films inside Toon Town." He gave Roger a sidelong glance, "Human objects are not usually permitted inside Toon Town, I'm afraid. Viewing section over here." He goes to another parted section to reveal a white cloth for a screen and a battered-looking projector.

"Since the productions haven't decided yet on what role I could fit into, I'm quite happy to research and study." He puffed up his chest. "I'm not a super genius for nothing, you know."

But then his shoulders slumped and he began to pace back and forth with a hand on his chin.

"However, viewing cartoon shorts is not enough. I need a live specimen. I need other toons besides us in Leon Schlesinger's Productions. I need outside toons for comparison analysis. I need-"

Wile suddenly stood ramrod straight, his ears and tail stood erect momentarily. He looked at Roger as though suddenly seeing him for the first time.

"You."

Roger, who had been listening to his monologue, simply blinked.

"Huh?"

Wile suddenly appeared in front of him, grabbing the rabbit's shoulders. "You were looking for a job, are you not?" Wile asked, yellow eyes manic with zeal.

Roger backed away but Wile just stepped forward with his hands still on his shoulders like another uncomfortable version of Tango.

He wasn't like Daffy, he said, Roger thought for a second. "Um, yeah but-"

"No, you won't do. You're too imbibed in the laws of human physics!" Wile suddenly said, letting him go to pace back and forth some more.

Roger looked around to see that they have somehow walked into another section of the warehouse. He closed his eyes, inhaling.

It smells strongly of both aged books and freshly printed ones. Dust motes hang suspended in the shafts of sunlight. Books were piled high like a multitude of pillars as though a giant child had been curious how far he can stack before it falls over.

There was a springing sound like a released coil in a bed mattress when Wile stood up straight again, his ears and tail, sticking up.

"Unless!" he cried, a lightbulb appearing on top of his head.

Roger's jaw dropped from his spontaneous reactions, wondering when he could get over toon oddity. He thought he was imagining the lightbulb but Wile only tugged its little string to turn it off and it disappeared as it appeared.

Wile grinned, the excited gleam back on his yellow eyes. "That sly, old duck! He really meant for me to take you all along!"

He dusted the imaginary lint off his fur as he stood properly before the rabbit. "Roger, I have a proposition for you."

Wile waited for a moment for the old "proposition" joke to be mentioned. But Roger only looked at him in a mildly bewildered manner.

"Roger, how would you like to become my… research assistant?"

The rabbit hesitated. "What exactly would I do?"

Wile waved his hand. "Assist me in my research, clean-up after experiments, errand boy. But most important of all," his eyes gleamed as his voice grinned with innovation, "You'll be taught how to toon."

Roger tilted his head. "You guys kept mentioning that."

"Because you're capable of it! You just don't know how!" Wile cried, remembering the spiked drink incident. "You're untapped potential, Roger. It's time to for you to know what you can do! Test your limits! Break through!"

Excitement burned from the coyote's very core, the fire burning in his eyes. He smacked his fist in an open palm. "It's a win-win situation. You get to learn how to toon and I get to confirm or reject my theories. The principles that underlie in our abilities to defy human physics!"

Roger stared at him. Does tooning means being able to dodge Toon Town's crazy drivers? For that, he might be interested.

"But I'm afraid I can't pay you. Budget's low," Wile said, deflating. "But you will get free food and lodgings."

The rabbit looked unconvinced. Who wouldn't be?

"Tell you what," Wile rubbed his chin, biting his lip thoughtfully. "No strings attached. If you found a job and want to quit then you can quit. But till then you can be my research assistant… volunteer."

Roger frowned. He doesn't want to take advantage of Wile's generosity. But it doesn't seem right to work for just food and shelter. He'd need money in the future. Besides, the sooner he could find a stable job, the sooner he could find his parents.

Jaded onyx eyes stared at him from his memories, no longer foolish or manic. A voice reverberated inside his head.

If you're going to live in Toon Town, you'll need to learn how to toon.

Could Daffy be right? He remembered the blurring vehicles, the incomprehensible traffic. If he couldn't survive simply crossing the street, how could he survive the rest of Toon Town?

Roger looked at Wile. The coyote smirked when he held up a hand.

"I'm in."

Furry white hand clasped a furry brown one and they shook. Blue eyes regarded yellow ones with equally solemn understanding.

Wile grinned, canine teeth showing. "Splendid! But first, you need to get out of those clothes."

"WHAT?!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"I'm pretty sure Wile didn't intend to harass you on your first day at work," Jessica said in her most impassive voice while she restrained a quirk in her lips.

Roger rolled his eyes. "Who wouldn't react like that, anyway? He could have said I should go get some toon clothes!"

"I couldn't believe your first job in Toon Town was being a research assistant," she said.

"Tell me about it. Herman rolled off this couch, laughing."

Jessica let out a chuckle that was rarely heard outside. "Roger, I hate to interrupt. But I really need to go."

Roger glanced at the clock. "Is that the time already? Jeepers!"

"How about I come back someday this week? I'd really love to hear what happens next." Jessica stood up, her purse swinging on her arm.

"You do? Sure!" Roger hopped down the couch, bouncing to open the door for her. "How about Friday after filming?"

"Ink-and-Paint Club night shift."

"Thursday night?"

Jessica smirked mischievously. "It's a date."

Roger rolled his eyes. "Haha, Jessica. You really know how to pick a guy." He hopped after her. "Here, let me walk you to your car."

They walked in a companionable silence. In the dim lights, Jessica let herself smile. Silence like this was always filled with the guy furiously trying to impress her, bragging and flirting and ending up looking more foolish at the minute. But with Roger...

The rabbit was humming a tune with a hop in his step. She caught his eye and he just smiled before looking away, humming on.

Funny how people always regarded him as the idiot.

"There's just one thing I don't understand," Jessica said when they finally reached their car. "How come you didn't know how to toon before?" she asked, letting a hint of disbelief escape from her initial immense internal reaction.

Roger shrugged, "I dunno. Wile had a few theories though."

Jessica got in her car and started it.

"Well, see ya!" Roger said with a rigorous window-washer wave as though they were miles apart.

Jessica stared at him. Then much to his surprise, her hand shot out of the window and ruffled his hair. His foot reactively thump repeatedly on the ground when her fingers rubbed the spot behind his ears.

A chuckle escaped her as she retracted back her hand. Roger looked rather surprise but he just shrugged and smiled.

Jessica drove off, letting her eyes watch him disappear into a tiny dot in her rear view mirror.

She always thought tooning was instinctive. What could have happened that Roger didn't know how to toon before?