Notes:

FIRST IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER TO POST. AS OF THE 27TH OF MAY IVE HANDED IN MY COLLEGE PROJECT PHEWWW (so now I can afford to do fanfiction :) )

So, i started work on this chapter on April 6th and my birthday is on April 5th (HELLO FELLOW ARIES) Yayyyyyy...

Now I'm 19 and... it sounds weird. But whatever! I got some clothes and a Jessica Rabbit figurine from my sister! So... had obvious favoritism with that. (Sorry guys, jk loved your gifts too.) But since then I've just felt so excited to continue collecting stuff. Ebay is a heaven for finding Roger merchandise (God knows Disney doesn't do enough.) Anyway, this chapter was a lot of fun! I really liked writing Roger's character so I hope you enjoy reading it ittttt!

Also here's my Instagram just because: (remove the spaces from the url and add https x)

: / / w w w . instagram phlowerpowerrrr /

Chapter summary: back to 1935, people! Jessica's falling, Roger is a free toon and Eddie likes the bartender.

"Miss, Krupnick?" "Your buttons are...wayward."

Jessica, with perspiration coating her digits, fiddled with the pearlescent buttons on her purple dress; after having a very awkward staring match with the woman tasked with guiding her to the shoot. At her statement she raised an eyebrow, followed her eyes to her chest and eventually spun around; all while her face stayed stiff in a big-eyed look of silent horror, then the door clicked shut from behind her. The door to a different room than her last assignment and the one before that, before that, before-

She let out a sigh.

What is the matter with me? Jessica glowered down at her fumbling hands. This had been happening all too regularly, her sudden affinity for misplacing her keys, drifting off and looking into a corner, daydreaming whilst fastening the buttons on her dress. It wasn't particularly surprising to be out of sorts given the country's predicament but Jessica knew that it wasn't that, in fact she was positive she knew what was happening yet she found herself unable to comprehend it. But why?

'The chances of him feeling the same way about me are slim to none, you know that.'

The sly remarks, the downward glances, the constant insults and inability people and toons had to take her seriously, why would he fall for a girl like that? He was better suited to a pretty girl, one who'd blend in with the crowd whilst also being acceptably stunning, both in personality and appearance and maybe his artist had already drawn him a love interest? Probably ready to fall in love with him.

That stung.

Changing in and out of several dresses followed and each time Jessica had uneven buttons, or an unzipped back, or she forgot her shoes. She got home at 6 that day.

It had been about three weeks since she first met Roger Rabbit, three weeks since she took the events schedule from the bulletin board and the following day asked him to come to...'fish swallowing' with her...she would have picked pole sitting but she had worked that day and by then the event had passed; it was probably for the best, Pico Boulevard was about a 15-minute cab drive away and Jessica needed to save money. It hurt, to be struggling to buy coffee and bread whilst working in a world that wasn't affected that badly by the stock market, that being the fashion/photography business, the magazine industry was hit hard and profits dropped but she still should have been doing better. She was a toon however; someone had to take the credit for her lines on paper, the lithograph colour added to her pictures, they got more money than her; she wasn't a drawing anymore she was a person. She couldn't even decide where she lived, her artists- aka bosses, picked this place out for her:

Your living space was in one room, you'd have to pay for showers; as a toon, she was lucky to remain semi-decent looking without a shower- for longer than humans anyway. Toons would be fine in water for a bit but it wasn't really a good idea to take regular showers if you wanted your ink to stay strong. The price for a shellac varnish bath or shower was more money, much to every toon's dismay.

Her single room home was on east fifth street, an infamously poor area of Los Angeles. Los Angeles was a movie monopoly and seemed to be doing fairer than other places money wise. Movies meant stars and eventually that meant toons... but she hadn't seen any toons on east fifth street, aside from the faded.

She was so happy to finally see another toon, especially one who was such an infectious personality like Roger. Even if she wanted to go out and see other toons outside of work (why would she though?), she couldn't, she couldn't just move; for some reason, her bosses didn't want her running away to live her own life without coming home to exactly where they knew to find her, no matter how small the distance was, she was apparently: 'untrustworthy' and if she chose to stop paying for her room, she'd just be confirming their judgement, she wasn't untrustworthy.

Her artist and colourist: Mr Harris and Mr Miller, received requests from photographers in LA, they'd take her to the 'studio' for that day and later she'd appear in a fashion magazine or something like that. Every job they sent a cab to drive her to the business side of LA... it just showed how every choice she could make was already made for her.

Prices rose after a significant deflation; things were apparently stabilising but they didn't feel that way, the threat of war slowly moving closer by the day. America was still traumatised from World War one... leaders insisted they'd remain neutral but that didn't help the nervous atmosphere clouding the air... and especially for toons, who were disposable, un-killable tools.

But even with all this hurt, this past month had felt great. As great as it could possibly be. The mornings seemed brighter, her smiles felt less put on and she was singing more, when she was brushing her teeth, when she was fixing her hair, when she was in her dressing room.

It was all because of him. He was so happy, he radiated pure joy even though he was job-hopping and living in a world on the brink of war. It made her feel something she had never felt before. He was so purely himself it inspired her. She couldn't properly describe it but she knew that this was serious; whenever she saw his face something about it drew her in and she eventually figured out why: because it was his, his aura felt safe and even when they were spectating pole sitting or watching someone swallow gold fish, she drowned out everyone else, all the judgemental stares and whisperings, just listen to him and experience the feeling of home he gave her. A feeling she'd never known before.

The day after she had first met him, they attended the lobby's fish swallowing contest. Clapping and cheering filled the cramped space as the man in a white button down, red socks and greasy hair took a heaping gulp of live fish. Jessica and Roger were tucked in a corner, thankfully ignored by people and covered by the majority of eyes from their low-down position on stools.

"So, what are you doing for work right now?"

Jessica asked, leaning in the direction of his ear amidst the noise, then she looked at him cautiously, nervous at being the first to start a conversation like...this. With someone who potentially wanted to talk more. She didn't have a clue how to start.

"Oh... Well...nothing really, I was working as a busboy to get enough money to come here, just to find out who's signature this is."

He answered, at first, he was unsure but then that enthusiasm reached his voice again and Jessica found herself being pulled further in by his personality. He moved his left arm and folded the hem of his yellow glove over itself to show to Jessica: a smudged signature in grey, once it was definitely black and readable but now, Jessica had to squint to make out the first letter. He drew his hand back; he wasn't really smiling but a hint was there. Jessica's nose scrunched up at the realisation:

"...You don't know who drew you?" She asked, tone a mixture between sad and jealous. To be free to move from Oregon, she didn't really think much about it till now; maybe his artist was travelling? But to know that he did it voluntarily made her crave the same lifestyle and he was trying to find them? He didn't know the power he had, as little as it was.

"Nope! but wherever they are, they're definitely not in Oregon, I know that for sure."

"May I ask how you know that?"

"There's no animators there!... and not to sound too big headed but I think you need to know a bit about art and animation if you're gonna make lines as smooth as these."

She smiled and giggled, chortle being concealed by the crowd's cheers. Maybe it was just her imagination but he seemed sad that he didn't get to hear it... but back to business; she had to warn him about artists and their greed-

"My plan is to visit all of the places with the big studios, there's Disney, Warner brothers, then Fleisher in New York, sure they're black and white but ya never know, right?"

"That's... very ambitious." Not sure how to tell someone so chipper how she really felt.

"Well...I didn't really think much about how I'd get the word out but...I'm just so happy to finally be here and maybe find my purpose! They can't keep me on hold for long until I'm replaced with an identical rabbit, right?" He laughed but Jessica frowned.

"...I suppose things will...just sort themselves out." He opened his eyes after laughing, a genuine smile on his face and something behind his eyes Jessica couldn't quite pinpoint. Regret? No. But something close.

"So, how did you end up in Oregon anyway? if you don't mind me asking?"

He seemed to stiffen and Jessica felt guilty, guilty for making someone feel like how Mr Harris made her feel.

"Oh, it's a looong and incredibly booooring story...What about you, Jess? How's yourself?"

'Jess'...that felt nice, like she was a part of something. She was glad when his smile returned but she was still worried she had hit a nerve.

"Urm... Well..." 'where to start!' here inner voice jested sarcastically.

"Well...I work as a model-"

"You certainly have the smile for it, Jess."

Something about how he said that over anything else- not her waist or chest, or legs or hips. Made her blush madly behind her already rouged face. He said her smile, he gave her a nickname! For the first time someone was talking to her and not at her.

"You really think so...?"

"I know so!"

She grinned and her shoulders bunched up to press against her cheeks. He smiled back.

"I can call you 'Jess', right?"

"Of course!" A little too loud, some people turned in the direction of the sound; she coughed and lowered her tone: "...it has a nice ring to it."

But... he couldn't possibly- never in a million years-

Knock, knock.

"Miss Krupnick? Ready now?"

She was still in the room. Purple dress fitted perfectly to her figure; the knocking got louder when she didn't answer. She stared straight ahead at the wall. She'd known him for almost a month, he wrote his own material he talked about his dreams-

Knock, knock.

She wanted to be a part of them.

.

Knock, Knock

.

...Knock, Knock...

.

.

His skates fit snuggly on his feet. Tight actually...but the director still insisted that he fasten the straps securely -more like painfully- to make for that perfect toon roundness. It hurt. However, looking at Minnie's bow: unmoving and almost surgically attached to her head. She probably hurt more.

"I'm nervous, I've never done slapstick like this." She confided in him, "at least for a while..." she mumbled under her breath; her fingers fiddled with each other, her own skates clacking against the grey, matt floor of the corner they'd tucked themselves into.

He ducked his head a little to see her fallen face, when their eyes met, she smiled and he bathed in the sight that was Minnie's cheeks: different from the usual pale white of her eyes, now they were red. The acrylic used to paint her was a beautiful shade and he was glad he could finally see it.

Despite how pretty she was, she'd need to get a cold water bottle against her to calm it, lest the director catch her without blocked colours.

Although, in this moment, he thought he was allowed to bask in it.

"Don't worry..." He cupped her cheek and guided her eyes to meet his level.

"You only have a few little falls to do."

Minnie started to scrunch up the hem of her dress. Woolly gloves wrinkling under the intensity of her squeezing but her breathing was slow and deep. Thankfully.

"You've been great in rehearsal! Perfect for a newbie."

Her eyes properly met his, cheeks getting bigger and filling his palm as another bashful smile spread across her face.

"...You'll be fantastic. I just know it."

He finished. Minnie pushed her face further into his own gloved hand. Eyelashes fluttering against his wrist just as a stage hand walked by.

"Thank you..." she whispered.

"No problem... let's get some ice for you, toots."

Suddenly she opened her eyes fully-

"Ice?" She asked quizzically, head tilted and eyelashes blinking rapidly in confusion.

"You're heating up pretty good-"

"Oh! No!" She yelled, ultimately attracting attention which was the exact opposite of what she wanted, he presumed, "How embarrassing!" She spoke in a whispered tone. She had since backed up and held her warm cheeks in her own hands.

"It's just me, Min-" he sounded almost unsure.

"Not you!" She waved a hand at him incredulously, "Everyone else...!"

He looked out and onto the set:

Goofy was struggling with his skates and Donald was reading over his script; Pluto sat obediently where he'd told him to wait. His tail wagged when they caught eyes, he waved at the dog's 'tongue out' expression, before looking back to his Minnie.

"Look, we've got at least half an hour 'till Goofy gets those skates on."

She turned to what he indicated. At the sight of Goofy stumbling and falling everywhere but his seat. The stage hands divided: half laughing and half frustrated. Minnie smiled again.

"So, what's ya say me and yourself take a trip to the refrigerator? They won't even know we're gone!"

Minnie looked at his pale face, at his pitch-black pupils surrounded by plots of pure titanium paint.

Her lips turned upwards into a sweet, gentle grin and nodded.

"You're right, come on then, Mickey."

Mickey held the door open and Minnie smiled... not too sure what to do with his hands now. He decided on clenching them into fists as he walked. He peered over to Minnie, their pale faces standing out in the dark, enough for Mickey to see her smiling to herself, staring straight ahead as their skates clacked and echoed off of the dim walls of the hallway. He swallowed and went back to looking forward himself. This was going well, right? he did everything he thought he was supposed to do? She was his girlfriend, right? Or his wife? Whichever- he felt he was attracted to her but why did everything that they had before... why had it vanished from his memory?

He didn't want to be rude; she certainly seemed excited to see him when she leapt out of the animation department not long ago. He'd been told about her, how he should act and all that, they had shown him his previous cartoons in an effort to refresh his memory but-

He didn't want to ask if she felt the same feeling; she could get upset and he wasn't trying to be mean, he was just a bit confused. Besides, this might actually be going somewhere good.

They reached the end of the small, unlit, grey, windowless hallway. Facing them: a door on the right wall, it was adorned with two handles: a 'normal' one for humans and a lower one, for them. He then opened a second door for her, letting her step in first with a bow, she giggled and he found himself for a moment, getting lost in his own character, that this mouse in front of him really was someone he'd known since forever.

But not because he felt like he was falling in love, they hadn't done a cartoon on that yet so, he supposed he didn't really get it but more so: that he should just accept this as the norm; it was easier.

The 'kitchen' was white and a dull humming was heard from within it, the floors where tiled and yellowing slightly and a circular table sat to his right, adorned with a table cloth, an empty vase, discarded newspapers... Two wooden chairs stood around it. Cupboards lined the back wall, amongst them sat a sink with a curtained bottom.

He watched as she opened the refrigerator, its small build perfect for them, no adjustments needed, it stood on four, dainty, stylish legs but supported a big, spherical monitor atop its head. Minnie scanned its insides for anything that'd fit the bill.

Watching her like that, for some reason, triggered something within him... he felt himself disassociating almost- like he was the viewer watching them on screen. Yeah... that's more like it... we are the perfect couple! I kind of like this world... I'm successful, I've got a partner...-

"You alright?"

Minnie asked, pulling him out of his moment. She was holding a glass water bottle to her face.

"Hmm mm! Just thinking about...lies- I MEAN lines!"

She smiled. But it felt different than the rest she'd tossed him, she spun around to the sink immediately after, grabbing a dish towel to help loosen the metal cap of the bottle; she wasn't drawn to be particularly strong. The silence that fell over them afterwards as Minnie drank and closed the fridge, felt thicker and filled with nervousness. He wanted to speak but he couldn't afford asking anything right now. Not when filming was to start soon. He had to keep it professional.

He breathed a smile when she connected their hands. It felt forced.

As they left the kitchen/staff room, Mickey noticed something he hadn't thought to comprehend before- the humming had carried on into the hallway and a door sat parallel to the kitchenette, it had the same dull grey aesthetic and wood markings, same dented nature and even a handle that was silver and circular- but that was just the issue.

He felt Minnie move and link arms with him, humming to herself: Donald's number which he'd sing in the cartoon, oblivious to his staring at something else.

The door had just one handle.

Ringling bros and Barnum & Bailey 1935 route:

September 23rd-24th: Dallas, Tex.
September 25th: Fort Worth, Tex.
September 26th: Waco, Tex.
September 27th: Austin, Tex.
September 28th: San Antonio, Tex.

Dad was 69 years old and their clowning days were far from over but he still insisted on keeping track of the circus' route. "Now they're in San Antonio," dad had croaked through the phone. Having travelled around America with dad, Eddie had a chance to narrow down the options on where he wanted to settle, Teddy too. Strangely they both picked Downtown Los Angeles, Eddie wanted to live on a street with affordable travel and Teddy liked the fact that he was close to his favourite cartoon characters. Cartoons were a passion of Teddy's which started when they were still on the road:

"You really should come, Eddie." Teddy smiled as they walked the opposite way of the wind, people setting up the tent behind them. "The meetings aren't as boring as you'd think, toons need their struggles aired."

Eddie shrugged. He didn't doubt Teddy, he was just... busy. He had a lot of 'embarrassing-to-admit' fun, reading crime stories in between shows. That was probably selfish but, in his defence, he'd spent the majority of his existence not really knowing what he'd wanted to do. This was a nice change.

"I'll come, just not right now." Is what he settled on.

Teddy on the other hand, seemed like he always knew what he was doing. He's the one who got him watching cartoons in the first place, although he didn't watch them as much but he liked them; Eddie always considered himself a silly soul, that's why he was still involved in the circus while Teddy was already thinking of stepping out and courting someone. Teddy was simply hooked on toons and both of them were- for some reason- very interested in delving deeper than what the library had available. Teddy had found things he didn't like and rightly so. Toons being wrongfully sold, toons going missing and no-one caring... a long list of misfortunes basically.

Teddy found a group of people and out of work toons with the same interest: educating people on toons and their mistreatment. Every day or every other day, he came back home just spilling with new information to tell him and dad. Eddie felt like he was already far more knowledgeable than he was before, just by hearing Teddy talk about things. Although saying he knew everything was most likely false; he'd still like to attend.

Having being... Two quite eccentric brothers (that's what being raised in a circus will do to you.) They could afford to do as they pleased on the train, of course until they woke up in a new location. Teddy had taken it upon himself to stay at home 9 times out of 10, after discovering his new found fixation; this didn't cause any rifts, seeing as Teddy was pretty long and lanky and wasn't the best adept to backflips and all that; he'd mostly spin plates but he enjoyed it, the atmosphere was infectious under the tent. Their dad didn't mind, in fact! He'd asked Teddy if he wanted to incorporate a tribute to some of his favourite cartoons into the performances.

Looking back, Eddie might have thought his brother was going through another phase, like when he used to wear loafers everywhere, or when he made his own clothes out of discarded drapery curtains. But even years later it stayed and had morphed into a permanent stay within his brother, cartoons weren't just something he enjoyed, like how he used to be really into Duke Ellington and His Orchestra, obsessively so... he was doing everything in his power to air the ugly parts of it all. Eddie was proud of his brother.

Now that he bought an office space, Eddie thought he could actually start to make a (at least local) name for himself: Eddie Valiant, private investigator!

Today, Teddy came around, taking pity on his bed; he was living in his office space for the moment. Then he asked if he'd like to see the new Mickey Mouse cartoon with him: Mickey on ice. "It's opening day!" Teddy had said, "maybe after, we could get some peanuts and alcohol!" He'd continued.

When they had left the theatre (they disappeared just as the main movie was about to start; Teddy would hardly watch films that weren't animated and Eddie wasn't fond of the title so, win win!), Teddy was gushing about how he thought the swift movements in Mickey (as well as the rest) were amazing and how you could definitely tell he'd gotten a higher frame rate per second. Eddie then asked how toons changed their frame rate, Teddy surprisingly shrugged and subsequently, Eddie's eyebrows shot up.

"Same as slapstick I suppose: practice."

They continued walking down the street, the air was cool and the sky: a pale blue. Eddie was sure glad Teddy stopped by, dragging himself away from his shared house with his pals just to visit him; otherwise, he wouldn't have felt the need to step outside, even for a moment.

"Lunch time!" Teddy heartily cheered as they passed the unfamiliar boarders of a restaurant, brown wooden floorboards made a satisfying sound as Eddie walked across it and the almost mahogany, glossy-like walls, made him feel like he was underdressed...despite the typical tables and uniforms, the friendly prices and ordinary menu...still.

"Pretty 'out of the ordinary', huh?"

"Well, I don't know!" Teddy smiled, having found a spot he liked after a moment of walking through the eatery. He draped his usual red blazer on the chair's back before sitting down. Eddie felt plain in just a white polo shirt but he realised his brother probably looked like he'd lost his way; Teddy always dressed like he was an artist, sometimes Eddie would suddenly fully acknowledge this fact... he supposed he had become desensitised to it.

"We're not going to live forever you know, Ed, I like trying new things."

They sat in comfortable silence as they scanned the menu, when they'd both decided, Teddy took it upon himself to ask for a waiter.

"...er, waiter!" He outstretched an arm towards the figure, decorated with the place's colours.

But when the staff member turned, Teddy crawled into himself because that waiter was a-

"Erm- I mean- waitress, I'm sorry-"

Her heels clicked against the floor with each step she took, brunette locks blowing slightly in the makeshift wind she'd created with her long strides, ruby lips were drawn in a judgmental straight line. Teddy adjusted his glasses and smiled sheepishly. Hoping to repair his mistake, he scanned her dress front, ready to compliment it- but then he realised that it was a uniform and she probably wouldn't appreciate that; at that point he'd been staring at her chest for longer than one really should- her eyes turned steely and she tapped her pencil against her pad aggressively, making him jump-

"What would you like to drink?" She asked through gritted teeth.

Teddy wanted to apologise for the situation but combined with his constant awkwardness and tendency to bounce between thoughts, he became confused and ended up blurting:

"Er-er what about food? -"

"That comes after, right now, what would you like to drink?"

Thankfully, Eddie spoke for them both after that. She didn't look up from her notebook as he did, choosing to only mumble an unenthusiastic 'thank you'.

"Well... if it's any conciliation, I'm glad I'm not going to live forever now..."

Teddy mumbled once she had vanished. He expected Eddie to laugh or at least make a quip and roll his eyes... but... nothing. He raised an eyebrow and lifted his head to look at his brother. He was staring away from the table, eyes locked to the bar, dazed expression written all over his face, he was simply enamoured. Teddy pulled a face that unmistakably read: disgusted.

"Eddie?" He tried, "Eddie!"

"Wasn't she beautiful?"

Was the answer he finally received.

Teddy spluttered.

"Are you kidding me, Eddie?! She almost ate me!"

"So? I can have preferences."

"Pre- what!? Eh- oh! Never mind!" Teddy glared and slid back into his chair.

.

"Light, damn it."

CLICK.

Roger finally got his lighter working; he set his cigar a blaze and tried to breath in the fog. Cigars made him feel less hungry and that's basically all he felt at the moment. A loaf of bread cost 8 cents and butter was 36 cents. Cigars were only 5 cents each... and he snagged the lighter from some heavy breather downstairs so, nothing for that. When he thought about it however, the bread ended up being cheaper than the cigars... He didn't know that they weren't edible! Oh well, he's paying for it now.

He coughed and perfectly circular rings of smoke floated up to the ceiling.

"Figures..." Roger glowered, "Even the air I breath turns toony..."

He adjusted his place on the mattress, letting his tired gouache joints relax against his mediocre pillows. Things weren't like how he'd pictured, not at all. Two months in the big city...He definitely didn't anticipate being a cleaner, he wasn't the best either; he was clumsy and not in a 'practiced', 'cartoony' way, he really needed to get better at that kind. Yet here he was: scrubbing the floor of some scrawny man and his annoying wife, for basically nothing. He finally became aware of the fact that because he was a toon, people looked down on his existence. He was a replaceable doodle, a feeling-less creation that couldn't be killed. He could be un-faded whenever someone pleased, never allowed to choose life for himself. Learning all this information about his biology all at once was... a shock wave.

At least before he thought he just looked funny... now he was a completely different person- being, in fact. It really confused him- still and at first, he couldn't quite comprehend what exactly everything meant, all he knew was: that he saw cartoons, realised they were like him and suddenly he had the idea, passion, motivation, drive, whatever! to do the same as the comic characters: act, it happened so fast it was inhuman. 'Well, of course.' Roger thought.

He didn't even know what Los Angeles was- well, he did? But not exactly! It wasn't his fault; he couldn't go to school in Oregon. He couldn't know everything.

Looking up to the ceiling was when he sighed. Muscles- if he had any- throbbed from the sweeping and polishing that was the majority of his day. He clenched his fists; he was reminded of the extra mess that the woman of the house intentionally threw at the ground, just to watch him pick it up obediently.

Fun.

He thought if he let the word 'toon' roll of his tongue more, he'd actually start believing it. Although after the train over, then all this aching and smoking- it made him realise that he didn't have the energy to pretend like he knew who he was anymore.

None of it makes sense. He fell backwards onto the mattress, resenting the toon in him. If there was any. Of course, there is! Look at your stupid hands!

"Everything sounds great on paper, making people laugh... but in real life everything is for people... I'm a drawing! What does that even mean!?"

Something burned within him and when he came back to his senses: his hands were clenched. Fingers were digging into his palms; he felt his eyebrows change his face into something grim; a snarl bite into the cigar in his mouth.

At the feeling of the end of the cigar being cut in half by his teeth, then falling into his mouth, he jerked, spat out the rest into his hands and felt himself feel faint as he coughed up the chewed-up end of nicotine. It looked like a dead piece of mouse was sitting on his bed.

He wanted to swear.

"F- J- J-Jeepers!" Is what he finally chose.

"I hate cigars... but you taste so good..." He cradled the salvaged corpse of his said object in his hands.

He discarded the ruined cigar and lit up another with his shaking digits, he stood beside the window until the sky went dark, he heard distant yelling and screams; that was normal. He looked down when a different sound reached his ears: heels on pavement. Below, Jessica smiled, cheeks red and eyes big. She waved up at him and he waved back. She gave him a thumbs up, motioning to his cigar and he smiled sheepishly. Then, Jessica disappeared from his view when she pushed open the doors of the building.

Roger stood in the cold air for a moment longer. Breathing out a deep breath of smoke... before slowly pulling himself away from the window, closing it and rubbing the stub that was his cigar into his ash tray, until it was nothing.

It was weird. He hated every inch of toon that was within him until he saw her. Almost like he was wearing a mask around her. He felt in those moments he enjoyed being a toon. But he shouldn't; that's wrong. Actually not really, the same time however-

She did say she only talked to me because I'm a toon. That's nice, I guess, I've got that going for me.

Men are pigs or something... gotta agree with that, God I'd hate to be that stuck up...

Back to the toon thing-

I don't like it. Well, I do... I don't, no! I don't, well-

Roger, shut up.

He didn't want to handle this, all this pressure and bottled up frustration as he swept some man's floor! Might make him commit murder; combine that with the disgusting uncertainty and...!-

He whispered into the wall closest to his bed... gargled sentences of nothing. A few moments after he closed his eyes against the wallpaper, breathing in deeply whilst. A shrill yelling from outside made him jump; he fell backwards, knocked over his pile of comics/'collection', smashed his elbow into the right wall and finally landed(or collapsed) with his feet directly parallel to the ceiling... a slew of 'be quiet!'s from the two neighbours either side of him followed...but when they ceased, a gentle tapping from below asked him if he was alright. Roger knocked back, drumming his knuckles twice onto the floor. That meant yes.

I have to end this. Now.

He thought, back still stuck in this 'not rehearsed at all' slapstick position. His eyes were struggling to stay open- he had a thought of not moving and just passing out here but he wanted his sheets and awful pillow... when he woke up the next morning, still on the floor and body hurting, he knew what he'd decided.

But he just didn't know how.

.