A/N: I'm so sorry. I meant to get these guys through their first show and move the plot along, but apparently this story had other plans. Next time, maybe.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Susan leaned back against the stage apron. She was the first one here, having ducked in through the back at Jessica's heels. The older woman had smiled knowingly and gone into her office, leaving her alone in the echoing room. She glanced up at the clock; even taking into account the fact that it was off by a few minutes, she was half an hour early. But how could she not be? The opportunity to be a toon again (albeit a sexy one) . . . to work with her best friend . . . to slip under the anonymity of having no real name. . . .

She was acting like a little kid, but she couldn't help it. Her foot tapping wildly, she looked around the restaurant and imagined it full of people and music. They'd be staring at her in awe, clapping, maybe even laughing —

"I knew you'd be here."

She whirled around and saw Minerva, Dot, and that Emily girl standing behind her. Dot ignored her for the most part, grabbing Emily's hand and dragging her up onto the stage. "How did you know?" she asked.

Minerva laughed, hopping up onto the apron and resting her feet on the orchestra conductor's music stand. "I showed up for my first rehearsal an hour early." Her smile grew wistful and her gaze distant, as though that time had been decades ago instead of a few years. "Besides, those two have been bouncing off the walls since four in the morning. I know you have more discipline than that, but excitement is excitement."

"Wait, what were they doing in your apartment? Especially that early?"

"Oh, I forgot to mention?" She faked nonchalance. "They showed up around ten Wednesday night to ask if I could give them a place to stay. And I, being the charitable soul I am, said, 'Of course! Please stay for as long as you'd like.'"

"So Dot kind of insisted, huh?"

"While I appreciate your opinion of me," she said, sticking out her tongue, "she did."

Susan smirked. Luckily none of the Warners knew her current address. All the same . . . "I could always offer them my apartment, if you'd like."

For a second she heard a faint cha-ching! before it was muffled by a toss of her friend's head. "Nah, I can handle them," she replied. A gleam stole back into her eyes. "Although I might take you up on that if things change."

"Thanks, Minky." She had always been aware of Minerva's selfishness; it had been played up for laughs several times on Animaniacs!, and it was a rare toon whose personality onscreen was not even close to what they were really like. But hidden beneath the desire for pretty things and pretty guys was a practical, mostly good person, and Susan could forgive her these slights. Besides, if Dot had shown up on her doorstep uninvited . . . "So how are they?"

"Dot's pretty much what you'd expect." By that, Susan assumed that she'd eaten all available food, stolen all the most comfortable spots to sleep and sit, and complained about everything from the location to the lighting. It was her standard treatment on the show if she needed to bum with anyone for any reason. (Once, Susan had been stuck with her while the Warners' apartment was being fumigated. Luckily Yakko and Wakko had been elsewhere, but the experience was one she'd be loath to repeat.) "The other one's nice, though. Like she's making up for Dot. Mostly wanders around and cleans, or plays with the cat." They both turned to the stage, where the two were gamboling around in a hilarious — to them, at least — and lewd rendition of "I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts."

Presently they were interrupted by the arrival of about forty other women, who piled into the room in a Marx-Brothers-esque mob as the clock struck seven. Most of them were built in the "Hello Nurse" style that had made Warner Bros. so much money. To her surprise, though, Minerva and Dot weren't the only animal-shaped performers in attendance. People's tastes are bizarre, she thought to herself. Not that her friend wasn't lovely, but still . . . there was a fox in the back of the room who was licking herself.

Bizarre.

Emily had hurried off the stage and was hovering close to Susan. "Holy cow," she whispered, biting her bottom lip as the beautiful women strutted past, chattering gaily as they found seats around the restaurant. A few gave curious glances toward the two of them, and more looked Dot over as she stood tall on the stage and eyed them back, but this wasn't what had unnerved Emily so. "Where are the other Disney toons?"

Susan only shrugged. She hadn't seen any. In truth, it was rare to see anyone from Disney, since toons were so difficult to draw correctly. Add to that the fact that the corporation kept such a tight leash on their creations, and there were very few of them wandering around at all. In fact, Susan hadn't seen anyone like Emily in over five years (mutts didn't count, obviously. They lacked that certain Disney sparkle that enchanted and irritated in equal measure).

Dot leapt down from the stage at last, beaming. "None of them are as cute as me!" she crowed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Not a single one!"

"Congratulations," Emily replied, rolling her eyes. "We're all thrilled for you."

"As you should be," she said smugly. When she noticed that her companions weren't nearly as cheerful as she was, she added, "What's your problem?"

"What do you mean?" Susan asked, watching apprehensively as one of the chorus girls passed, her close-cropped blue hair a startling contrast to her more traditional pinup build.

"I mean you'll fit right in among the triple D's over there, Minky's already in, and my dear friend here" — she hooked an arm around Emily's neck, despite being, at five-foot-nothing, four inches shorter and thus forced to stand on tiptoe — "is the only real Disney girl in miles, and she can do that . . . that Disney thing. And then there's my overwhelming cuteness, so we'll own this place."

Jessica emerged from her office then, tapping her ever-present clipboard with her pen to get the girls' attention. "Ladies, please," she called, her voice low and husky. "If we could."

Everyone dropped silent then, huddling around their boss with a devotion that was almost religious. Jessica pulled herself onto the stage and surveyed them all. Once she was satisfied that everyone was there, she tucked her pen into her impossible cleavage and continued. "We have three new prospects," she said, pointing to them with a long-nailed finger. "Please be courteous and make them feel welcome." All eyes flew to where they stood. Dot was eating up the attention, and even Susan didn't seem to mind, but Emily was mortified. She didn't have time too feel too bad for herself, though, because Jessica had moved on. "As you'd expect, I will be spending the majority of my time on these acts, but first I'd like to speak with Miss Berry, Miss Munoz, and Miss Sunshine. If the rest of you would run through your songs . . ." She waved them away, and the women scattered.

Minerva grabbed Susan's arm. "Come on, or we'll lose the best spot." She began leading her up a set of stairs that were just behind the stage. At the top of the staircase was a platform almost as big as the stage itself that was littered with various set pieces. "It's where the crew stores their props," she whispered. "Best place to rehearse if the stage is being used."

Dot and Emily had followed, and while Dot leapt on the sofas and tables that were strewn about, Emily had been drawn to the railing on the far end of the platform. She leaned over it and could see the entire restaurant, partially hidden by the fabric strung across the top of the curtain. She wondered what it was called, and why the stage protruded so far into the available seats. She'd been on so many film and television sets, but never an actual theater. Snatches of Shakespeare floated through her head, mystical and timeless.

What had she been missing?

"It's called a thrust stage," Minerva said, joining her at the railing. "That's why it goes so far into the audience." She smiled when Emily only stared. "I was curious, too. It's really something."

Before she could agree, another question occurred to her. "Why does Mrs. Rabbit want to talk to those girls?" she asked. If she tilted her head to the side, she could spot where the four women were huddled together.

"Probably changing their routines. Making them newer so the audience doesn't get bored." She sighed, tossing her head so that her hair fell over one eye, and Emily marveled at a toon that was drawn so that her every movement was sexy. How easy life must be for her. "I've always hoped she'd update mine, but apparently the people like knowing what they're going to get. That's why we don't really rehearse unless the routine's changed or someone's new — like you guys."

"Hey, Minky! Aren't you going to help us?" Dot's voice echoed, trapped in the folds of fabric that made up the curtains and bouncing around like a bat that had gotten stuck up there.

Minerva groaned. "That nickname is reserved for Susie," she said, giving Emily a meaningful look. "I can't stand it otherwise. But whatever. Let's get back."

Dot had assembled a crude set out of what was available and was lolling around on one of the couches. "So what's the secret to fame and fortune here at the Inky?" she asked.

"I don't know. It depends what niche you're expected to fill." She sat back, surveying them. "I don't dare to presume that I know the inner workings of Jessica's mind, but if I had to guess . . ." Her tongue darted out and rested on her upper lip as she concentrated, and Emily was filled with another shot of wonder mixed with jealousy at such effortless beauty. "Susie's easy — you'll be a chorus girl, the all-American kinda deal. Dot, you could either focus on being . . . well, furry, and get the weird fetishists, like moi" — she struck a sarcastic pose — "or stick with being cute and get all the innocence perverts." She paused for a second, her eyes landing on Emily. "You will be interesting. I don't know what she's going to do with you."

"Disney toons are supposed to be innocent too, right?" Dot asked. "We could be cute together!"

Minerva shrugged, turning her attention to the people below. "Maybe. But I think you're wanted, so you might wanna get down there."

"What? But we haven't practiced anything!" Dot protested; Emily took her by the arm and pulled her down the stairs as she was arguing.

"There you are," Mrs. Rabbit said, the expression on her face somehow conveying warmth and insincerity at the same time, like she knew exactly what her expression was supposed to be. "These young women" — she gestured to the three people she'd called over about ten minutes ago — "will help prepare you for tonight. Or whenever you're ready," she added, but the look she gave the mentors suggested a different sentiment. "I'll leave you to it, then." She disappeared back into her office again.

Dot, Emily, and Susan turned to the women that Jessica had been talking about. One of them, a short, ringleted blonde with tiny breasts stepped forward, her smile wide and bright. "I'm Suzanne Sunshine," she chirped. "Which one of you is Emily Irish?"

"No way," Dot whispered. "Her name is Suzy Sunshine? Good luck." She clapped Emily on the shoulder and nudged her forward. "That's your lucky student," she said to Suzanne, widening her eyes and giving the woman her special "cute" look.

Suzy either didn't catch the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. "Well, great! Let's get going, shall we?" She led Emily away as the other girls went off with their mentors. "So you must be nervous, huh?"

"Yeah, a little."

"Good. Play that up." Her tone was curt as she opened the door to the basement. When she turned back and saw Emily's look of confusion, she laughed and slapped her forehead. Her entire body squealed (girlishly, of course), "Golly gosh! Look what I did!" "Oh, I forgot how new you are! Sorry. I just meant that it's okay to be nervous. Sometimes the audience likes it when you're accessible." She reached out and tapped Emily on the nose with a wink. "And you have to be innocent and adorable. The boss insists."

"Why?"

She shrugged, the "golly gosh" expression melting from her face. "Must be the Disney thing." She slipped through the narrow doorway and disappeared into the gloom. "Come on! We only get half an hour before she wants you three back on stage."

Emily hesitated. Man, it was black down there. Nights in the park had been fine, because they were under the open stars and streetlights, but that was a closed kind of dark. You never knew what could be hiding in that kind of dark. "Um . . . are there any lights?"

For a moment Suzy didn't answer, and Emily felt her heart tighten in her chest. She was just about to run back into the auditorium when she heard, "Man, you're the real deal, aren't you? Hold on." There was some fumbling, and the lights flickered on. Suzy was standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. "Let's start, then." As Emily made her way downstairs (testing each step in case they were only built for super-thin models with weightless breast implants), Suzy added, "Afraid of the dark, afraid of making people mad. . . . You're a Disney through and through. Gives me something to work with, at least. You know how to do that . . . that foil shy awkward thing?"

"Well . . . I-I don't know."

"Perfect! Do it again."

"You know what I hate? What I absolutely hate?"

This was a hard game. Wakko balanced his phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he slapped two peanut-butter-dripping slices of bread together. "Yakko. Geometry. People who don't look like Mel Gibson. People who do look like Mel Gibson, because they might be cuter than you. Republicans?"

"You call that food?" Yakko asked, watching from his vantage point on the counter as Wakko slathered the peanut-butter sandwich with honey and topped it off with sprinkles and a pickle.

At the same time he could hear Dot rolling her eyes from the other end of the phone. Literally; they sounded like marbles in a pinball machine. "Could you let me get a word in edgewise? I call you for moral support and I get stupid jokes our stupid brother would make?"

Wakko sighed. Sometimes he wished he was an only child. "What, then?" he asked the phone, adding to Yakko, "Hey, you want to make fun of me? She just called you stupid." In defiance of both of them, he took a huge bite out of his peanut-butter-and-sprinkles pickle sandwich.

"Ew!" Dot moaned. "It sounds like you're eating one of your disgusting sandwiches." As she was talking, Yakko made retching noises. It was cute how alike they were. Not to mention incredibly annoying. "Anyway, what I hate is that Little Miss España here is acting like she's the boss of me! Like I haven't been the queen of cute since . . . like, ever!"

"Isn't she supposed to be teaching you how to act?" Wakko didn't know much about the Ink and Paint Club besides what was common knowledge: it was a place for singing and dancing and getting hilariously drunk. Honestly, he didn't care how she made money, or even if she made money. As long as she and Yakko didn't tear each other limb from limb, he'd be satisfied.

Which was why he hadn't told his older brother what Dot's new job was. He had a feeling that Yakko wouldn't appreciate it, whatever it was.

Not like Dot appreciated it. "Act? I don't need to learn how to act! I've been acting since before this —" There was static as she clapped her hand over the mouthpiece and screamed, "I'LL GET TO WORK WHEN YOU LEARN HOW TO TEACH!" She returned a second later. "Since before she was born."

"I doubt that," Yakko said, leaning over Wakko's shoulder to hear better. He was smart enough to keep his replies out of his sister's hearing, though.

"Huh." Wakko leaned back against the sink, feeling the puddle of water that always inexplicably formed at its lip soaking through the back of his shirt. "Well, good luck with that."

"Yeah. I'll be sure to tell you — HEY, I'M TALKING HERE! — how it goes. As long as he isn't there."

"So you've forgiven me?" He smiled. "I always knew I was the favorite." Yakko scowled and punched him lightly on the back of the head.

"Don't assume that. You're just the only brother I can stand right now." Still, she sounded more amused than annoyed. "So make sure he's out of there by midnight and — YOU CALL THAT A SHIMMY? I'LL SHOW YOU A SHIMMY! GET OVER HERE!" There was another crackle of static, then silence.

Wakko turned to his brother apologetically. "Listen, I know it's not fair —"

"Fair?" Yakko shrugged, trying to make light of the matter and failing. "Hell, I'd probably kill her just as bad as she'd kill me. And you guys should talk." He smiled a bit and added, "Besides, I've missed the Maul."

A/N: The ending is a little lackluster, but the next chapter involves the Maul! And maybe romance! (Or not. I don't really know yet.) Many thanks to Caramel Cheescake, Authoressinhiding, and L100Meganium. They're the best, as usual.