*Chapter 1: Buddy*

A plane touched down on the Hollywood Burbank Airport smoothly, barely giving its occupants a disturbance or a jolt. Among the passengers disembarking, was a cartoon boy wearing a brand-new business suit and with combed down black hair. He heartily whistled as he marched himself all the way towards the airport's front entrance and into a cab/ In spite of the overcast weather, the boy remained ever more cheerful, something which greatly annoyed his cab driver.

"Where to, mac?" the driver gruffly asked.

"The Warner Brothers Studio, if you please." his passenger requested. "Hee-hee-hee-hee, hee-hee-hee!"

"Okay, you got it."

Great, another freak...

The cab roared into life and sped away into the metropolis in the horizon.

XXXXXX

At the Warner Brothers Studio, the reconstructed Administration building stood tall and strong with the CEO's office looking as spiffy and modern as one could get. But even with all the brand-new furniture and upgraded phones, it didn't stop studio head Thaddeus Plotz from brooding. Lying flat on his polished oak desk, was a letter from New York, and its contents had left the stout boss' gears grinding endlessly in his head. A few moments later, a familiar employee stuck his head in.

"Eh, you vanted to see me, T.P.?"

"Yes of course, Doctor Scratchansniff." Plotz replied. "Please sit down."

A nervous yet slightly curious p-sychiatrist took a seat in one of the black leather chairs, noting on how comfortable they were before returning his focus on Plotz.

"Well, it's finally happened, Scratchansniff." Plotz declared. "We've got a notification from the New York offices."

Scratchansniff tensed a little in his chair. In his entire working history with the studio, getting letters or notification from New York weren't always a good thing.

"Ees eet about za fire five months ago?" the shrink asked anxiously.

"No, and that's just the weirdest thing about this letter." replied Plotz in a matter-of-fact tone, taking another glance at the paper. "They're harping on us about our DC pictures of all things."

Dr. Scratchansniff confusedly adjusted his thick glasses. While the studio's output of superhero and comic book movies was a little hit or miss lately, the loss wasn't enough to put them in the red.

"...Vell, eet couldn't have been zat bad." Scratchansniff insisted. "Ve did quite vell vith za Aquaman movie, ja?"

"True." Plotz agreed. "Though we'll be lucky to have Mr. Momoa back for a sequel after Dot took a shine to him."

Scratchansniff recalled how Dot had glomped onto the unfortunate actor every chance she got.

"Zo, vhat do za New York offices vant?" the p-sychiatrist inquired, trying to stick to the subject.

"They've taken upon themselves to send a representative to oversee film production." Plotz replied with annoyance and irateness. "Hmph! Like I don't know how to run my own studio."

Scratchansniff could understand his frustration. That and whatever made Plotz go into a rage was guaranteed to give himself and everyone else a headache.

"Zere, zere, T.P." Scratchansniff tutted, patting Plotz on the back. "All ve really need to do ees put on a good show, ja?"

"And get that New York suit scumbag off my lot as soon as possible."

Scratchansniff smiled and nodded. During times like this it was always best to agree with the boss.

"And you best make sure that those Warners behave!" Plotz added, pointing accusingly at the shrink.

"...Actually, T.P." Scratchansniff began frankly. rubbing his bald head. "I theenk for now, eet's Mees Roth ve have to vorry about."

"Why's that?"

Suddenly, the two men heard shouting from outside.

"REM! WHAT THE HECK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

Not far from the Water Tower, the Warner Quartet were standing in front of an outer space set piece recently removed from storage and sitting in front of a large water tank. Rem was sitting atop of huge red rocket, wearing a jacket and a helmet.

(Now Playing: Also sprach Zarathustra [2001: Space Odyssey Main Theme] by Richard Strauss)

"What does it look like, Dot?" Rem ranted in mock sarcasm. "I'm sick and tired of the Earth with all its a-holes. So I'm going to the moon where there's less a-holes!"

Wakko, who was the only one amongst the siblings that marveled at the scene, was a little eager to tag along.

"...Can I come with you?" he asked, before his sister held him place by grabbing onto his tail.

"Ya know this is only gonna end one way, right?" Yakko said with a twinge of annoyance in his voice.

"Ask me if I give a shit, Warner. Now are you gonna press that lousy button or what?!"

Frowning in consternation, Yakko muttered something under his breath and held out a remote with a large red button on it. Upon pressing it, the ignition in the rocket went live, propelling the 'vehicle' into the air, taking Rem along with it. After only reaching ten feet, the fuel burnt out, causing the rocket to fall back down below. Rem was smart enough to let go so that she and the 'vehicle' landed into the tank in different positions. Wakko heartily applauded while Yakko and Dot still arched their brows.

"You did remember to turn up the heat in the tank, right Yakko?" Dot asked.

In spite of it being summer, Burbank was encountering something of a 'cool snap' in the weather after all the rain they were receiving.

"You kiddin' me? I don't think she'd last one second in a James Cameron set." Yakko remarked.

(End music)

Meanwhile, Dr. Scratchansniff and Mr. Plotz watched almost despairingly from the CEO's office.

"...I think you were right, Scratchansniff." Mr. Plotz said.

"About vhat?" the p-sychiatrist replied curiously.

"I think the Warners are rubbing off on Miss Roth."

xxxxxx

At Dr. Scratchansniff's office hours later, the Warner Quartet were seated on therapy couch while the studio shrink was seated behind his desk.

"Eh, Mees Roth." Scratchansniff began. "...vhat exactly compelled you to go off een a rocket und eento a vater tank?"

"You mean other than having a weird death wish?" Yakko remarked, with sarcasm to which Rem stuck her tongue out.

"I was bored as hell, whaddya want from me?" she protested.

"As if there isn't plenty for you to keep busy around the lot or in the Water Tower for that matter." Dot tutted in a disapproving motherly tone.

"You haven't put that train set back together yet tho."

"Oh, so now we want to take that thing for a spin?" Yakko slightly ranted before taking a white cardboard filing box filled with five-subject, collage-ruled notebooks out of his hammer space and peering into it. "Gee, and it only took twenty-four acts and a hundred and seventy-four chapters."

"Screw off, Warner!" Rem shot back, now annoyed.

"Ahem!" Scratchansniff called out impatiently, drawing the quartet's attention. "As I vas sayeeng; I need you four to be on your very best behavior, ja? A New York representative vill be visiteeng za studio very soon."

Big wide grins stretched out on the faces of Yakko, Wakko, and Dot.

"New York, huh?" Yakko quirked, thoughtfully scratching his chin. "Haven't heard from them since they tried to cash in on MTM's set and prop auction."

"I would've killed to get Jean Harlow's make-up kit." Dot sighed as she reminisced.

"I really wanted Harpo's fiddle..." Wakko pouted, slouching in his seat and folding his arms.

"Pardon me for asking a stupid question, but why is someone from New York coming here?" Rem inquired.

"Vell Mees Roth, eet's a beet complicated." Scratchansniff tried to explain. "Eet's more or less of studio eenspection for za shareholders."

"Pfft, screw shareholders." Rem snorted. "If they don't like the lousy box office returns, then hire better writers."

"One day my dear, we'll have to screen Silent Movie for ya." Yakko commented.

"...Sounds like a better Mel Brooks picture than Men in Tights."

"..A little." Wakko slightly agreed.

XXXXXX

The very next day, a cab pulled into the lot and right in front of the Administration Building where Mr. Plotz, Dr. Scratchansniff, Hello Nurse, Ralph and Junior were waiting rather nervously.

"Duuuh, remembers to stand up straight, son." Ralph told his security trainee.

"Got it, dad." Junior annoyedly replied.

Anxiety soon turned to shock, confusion, and disbelief once the occupant of the cab came bursting out excitedly.

"Helloooo, everybody!"

Mr. Plotz, Dr. Scratchansniff, Hello Nurse and Ralph all stood there dumbfounded while Junior simply arched a brow.

"...Buddy?!" Mr. Plotz exclaimed. "You're the New York representative?!"

"Can you believe it?" Buddy replied cheerfully. "Imagine my surprise when the old studio heads called me on the telephone and asked me to come back! I was cloud nine, and only happy to accept of course. Hee-hee-hee-hee, hee-hee-hee!"

The grinning toon boy flashed his letter of recommendation at them. Mr. Plotz stared at the paper with a blank look and the gears in his brain going in eight different directions. This had to be a mistake. Or someone's idea of a cruel joke. Worse perhaps, a really bad dream that he somehow couldn't wake up from. Dr. Scratchansniff was equally perplexed, though he reasoned that former stars becoming executives wasn't completely unheard of. And as they could all plainly see, the letter had all twelve signatures on it, and the Warner Brothers seal of approval. Effectively leaving the stout CEO and the others no choice but to accept.

"Erm, very well then..." Plotz stammered in distaste.

"Not to worry T.P. ol' buddy, ol' pal!" Buddy assured him, patting Plotz on the back. "I intend to give a triple A plus grade to the folks back up in New York!"

That brightened Plotz' spirits up just a little. At least the toon boy was being very optimistic. Maybe things aren't as bad as they looked after all.

"Shall we head over to my office then?"

"That would be great! Hee-hee-hee-hee, hee-hee-hee!" Buddy replied in earnest

Plotz gave a nervous laugh before turning back towards the building. Ralph, Hello Nurse, Junior, and Dr. Scratchansniff glanced at each to which the p-sychiatrist gave a shrug.