Notes:
(Slight tw: this chapter briefly mentions implied ptsd.)
I made a YouTube channel 😵😵😵
The link for it will be in my bio
Space jam is out and I actually was (and still am) excited. But some reviews have come out and it makes me nervous I WANT SO MUCH TO LIKE THIS MOVIE. Of course I'm still going to see it x
(Also, I updated chapter 7 because I NOTICED I MADE A CRUCIAL MISTAKE that really confuses up my whole timeline, basically the sentence used to say:
'He continued, speaking in reference to Saturday: when they visited the studio and people had confirmed seeing the duck that day;'
'He continued, speaking in reference to Saturday: when they visited the studio and people had confirmed seeing the duck the previous Saturday;'
Yeah don't know how that happened but just so you know, it was always supposed to be 'the previous Saturday'. Hopefully that cleared up any confusion out there...
Also, I've been working on this chapter since June.
Yep... sorry if it doesn't feel like that but I'm actually quite proud of it. In the beginning when I was working on it, I got so obsessed with the Ducktales reboot(I still am I can't lie). I got on the train suuuuper late, I realise that... (because it's over now.) But I was (almost) at the end of season 2 when I started this chapter... and I was harrowed because I didn't want it to end. But now I've officially finished it and I can honestly say I'm mourning its loss.
June the 6th, 1947. Happy D-day.
It was a beautiful day! Eddie thought so as soon as he rose, everything was going great, so far anyway. His office was all repaired, his car was getting miles on it, he almost always slept at Dolores'. (Not to mention the eggs in the morning!) Nothing could wreak his good spirits!
Oh yeah... I still have to find something good enough to satisfy Daisy.
Still, not even that could really bother him; he liked work. Sure, Daisy was annoying and he desperately wanted something more but you've got to make the most-
Before he knew it, Eddie was one trillion words of research deep, reading about toon impostors and impersonators, Companies pasts and all that... he was never really versed in anything like this; this was more Teddy's thing, looking for toon related factoids and misjustices. But darn, did Eddie feel himself be suddenly sucked in! He felt happy. This felt like he was connecting with his brother... except not really. But... it also made him feel guilty for not putting in the effort and doing this stuff while Teddy was alive.
Teddy would have really liked Roger.
One thing Eddie found interesting, was that in 1944, "Mickey Mouse" was used as a password for admission, admission to naval officers, who were gathering for an invasion briefing at a southern port, weeks before D-day. He would've known that as well, if it weren't for April of '43. He stopped digesting any kind of toon media after that. But Dolores seemed to have continued, collecting bits and pieces from newspapers. That explained why this snippet was here, flattened between two books on her bookshelf.
"Working hard?"
A voice cut through his silent fixating.
"Ah-huh..." Eddie nodded. Not bothering to turn around and meet her gaze, to gripped by the animators strike of 1941. He remembered that. That was when Valiant and Valiant was years deep into being a 'reliable' business... and a great example of 'a retribution', talk of the town!
"Hello! Anyone in there?" Dolores playfully tapped at his head.
He jumped. She laughed. She stood over him, a smirk on her face.
"Huh?" He mumbled, slightly anomoured by the light that flew in from the window and how it shone around her.
"You know you don't have to actually find anything, right?" She placed her hands on her hips. Smirk softer and eyes conveying something like: 'be reasonable.'
"I know." Eddie said simply.
She shrugged to herself. 'I tried.' Eddie put his head back into Teddy's old collection of toon books. He skimmed through two already but these biographies, really had him gripped. There were more fictional books in the collection, Teddy liked them a bit more. Eddie liked life stories, animators accounts, the history of the work place- Teddy was fascinated by that as well... but in a different way; he loved seeing what the actors got up too at home, the boring stuff almost everyone does. But it really captivated him.
"So," Dolores continued, "I said: when do you think you'll be done?"
"... Urm... give me a minute, okay?... where do you wanna go?" He mumbled as he turned the page.
"Nowhere... what ya working on?" She leaned over, waist hanging on his shoulder. She knew what those books were; they'd moved them to her bookshelf only four months ago... give or take.
"...Er, well-" He stuttered, slightly embarrassed at how his quickly planned 'schedule' was so easily tossed to the side... also, strangely embarrassed by his reminiscing.
"Aw, Fantasia, I loved that film!" Dolores interrupted, "... the good parts anyway..." she chuckled. Then picked up a hardback, simply titled: 'Fantasia.' published by Simon and Schuster, 1940.
"Yeah!" Eddie grinned.
A sweet silence fell between them. Dolores placed the book back down... gently. She looked into her boyfriend's eyes... the biggest smile Eddie thinks he's ever seen, was spread on her face.
"I'm proud of you, Eddie..."
He smiled back, probably equally as big.
"I'm going out to buy some new shoes; I'll be back in time for lunch." She kissed his cheek.
"Okay, I'll be here." He called as she pulled away, her footsteps were loud on the wooden floor... then the door to their room clicked shut... and those clacking of heels... soon dissipated...
The air smelt fresh... the sky was blue and soup was on! In Burbank California.
The days following his first played out mostly the same, except now, he and Jessica forced themselves to get up earlier. Mornings now started with Jessica pulling him out of sleep at about 6:30 (usually, she was the late sleeper...), then freshening himself up ten minutes after, filling the bird feeder at 8 or earlier, followed immediately by a cooked breakfast and a rush to slide into his work clothes: his cartoon counterpart's iconic overalls and bow tie. Then finally, hopping in the car and driving for an hour before a goodbye kiss told him he was bang on schedule:
9:59, one minute to spare!
Herman however, wasn't as practiced.
Roger had been reading over the stack of papers they threw at him, making notes on storyboards and scripts. Soon the board would get together to approve their wishes and if Herman didn't look over his homework now, then he'd have to perform an unfortunate scene involving a diaper and a rotten sandwich.
But Roger wasn't gonna give him the heads up on that.
Normally, they said, the story team would present their ideas to them... but because they had had their eyes on them for all the months proceeding Maroon's passing, it was just easier to hand them all the plans they'd made whilst. After these cartoons were out of the way, story pitch could properly start and Roger was very excited to be able to get his input in, in real time. He could see it now: "Change those stars to birds, p-p-please!" Then they'll say: "Yes, Mr Rabbit!"
It'd be great! Maroon's directors always had a specific vision that needed reaching. Disney on the other hand, had artists and artists were... Well, flexible.
Because most of his day had to be spent cartoon-less at the moment, they insisted he attended 'classes', just to get warmed up! Back into the slapstick groove. After all, it had been a long time and the only physical activity Roger really saw during that time was golf, golf and pat-
"Tea cake, anyone?"
A sweet voice called. Hands flew up and the figure dressed in powder blue, handed the treats out accordingly.
They also gave him a list. All the things they expected him to do each day until then. Shooting hadn't begun but lazing around wasn't acceptable. Herman had gotten a list too although, he didn't do slapstick... or that much to warrant a warm up. Good thing too. So Roger could only assume he was lazing.
REQUIREMENTS:
Hand back notes for at least one cartoon. Practice form. Look over ink and paint's colour suggestions. Physical exam. Have fun! Repeat until further notice.
The day following his first, he handed back his notes for three cartoons. Then he was basically burning none existent calories for the remainder of that day and the next. After that he swung by the ink and paint department, they were thinking of changing his clothes to blue, yellow or maybe green. Roger remembered frowning. Physical exam was pretty dull and done the same day as ink and paint, just standing on a toon scale; it measured his pigment by way of seeing the weight of all the things it was sitting on top of. If it was still saturated he was in the clear. Ironically, the toon charged with monitoring that was as pale as a sheet of card stock.
"Perfect colour, Mr Rabbit." He had groaned through dull, colourless teeth.
Maybe that was purposeful.
It had only been three days so far but he was almost through with all the story boards. They said they just had to approve his notes and compose a backing track for the first cartoon, in no time, they said, he'd be asked to get dressed in his new outfit and start filming. This was so exciting! Any minute now! Any minute now!
Roger waited, waited in his new pair of acrylic painted, blue overalls.
Truthfully he was being a bit of a (forgive me, Roger thought) stinker. But that's only towards those who deserved it! So it was justifiable. On their second day Herman let slip that he didn't know they had to read that stack of papers. Roger brushed him off uncharacteristically and nobely offered to look over Herman's for him. Eagerly, Herman shoved them into Roger's lap, stating something like: 'Oh, Rodge, you lifesaver!' Before rushing back to the café to get more alcohol.
Roger had smirked and just scribbled about two notes in the stack, both of which matched his opinions- if they were equal enough, filming would start much faster! Besides, Herman wouldn't mind, he liked sucking his thumb.
He sat in a chair similar to that of a director's, reading comics until he had to start exercising again. He wished to visit Goofy on his set but movies weren't as fast going as shorts; he'd be there for a while and most likely, with his hands full.
He still definitely had lunch though! But for some reason Roger stayed sat. Sat as stage hands ate tea cakes and Herman drank half his paint weight in orange juice laced with gin. Roger sat, head resting against his fist, legs crossed, quietly flipping through a comic book. He was hungry but he just continued reading.
Timing and finesse... he stared at the Goofy on the comic page.
He was so excited on that first day, had his pencil and pad ready and everything! But he'd missed his chance, if there even was one... yet that was fineee, then the next day, he was booked... had a lot to do, including the costume change- since then, he'd felt a sort-of-self-consciousness all of a sudden and it was stupid! Jessica had said sweet things to him, back when he confided in her over dinner last night, he was talking about his day, as he always did - he found it strange; It's not like he couldn't handle things changing, he'd just moved companies because his boss was murdered for Christ's sake and after a bit, he had grown fine enough to joke about that; why was his outfit such a big deal? Sometimes he'd have strange episodes of self depreciation and this one, was all because blue WAS NOT HIS COLOUR AT ALL. Jessica had smiled through it all and put a pause on dinner... she got him all worked up and then had to fly off to work! He stayed up waiting for her to get back, sitting in bed, lamp on and wide eyed, unable to sleep after the confidence boost she'd given him. Although... he did feel guilty for feeling such a way... because there was something he very much so wanted to talk to her about... but aside from that-
Why am I acting weird? I don't act like this! I want to get up and run and talk to him now! Right now!
At that he narrowed his eyebrows, closed the book and left it on his chair. He blindly waved to the people who called out a goodbye; his eyes were focused on the path ahead as he made his way to the Studio's restaurant.
He passed a window on his way there- but stopped. He stared at his reflection through it. The windows are so clean I can see myself, passed through Roger's mind but his loudest thought was how strange he looked. The ink and paint department were insistent: 'you look eye catching in blue, Mr Rabbit! Trust us!' But Roger just frowned. 'Maybe eye-catchingly ridiculous!' He felt like he faded into the wall! Red suited him much better but even the higher ups liked this change so, maybe he was just being silly.
He sucked in a deep breath, chest beating with nervous energy as he willed himself to carry on, carry on and turn the corner-
The reception place he'd grown accustomed to, greeted him. He stuck out his chest, trying to look like he knew exactly what he was doing as he walked like it was nothing, passing business men and colleagues a like. A lady from the ink and paint department gave him a wave; he waved back as they crossed paths, he mumbled a small 'hey' under his breath which... he was most certainly glad no-one heard; his voice cracked straight through the middle of it.
Before he could even manage an embarrassed eye roll- he'd arrived. The cafeteria was right in front of him and above all others, standing 6 foot, easy(with a slouch!), was Goofy.
'No biggy, Roger, just... walk up and say hello! You love people! You're a people pleaser, a people fanatic, you have a people obsession! A-'
"Excuse me!"
Roger felt someone push past him roughly.
"Sorry!" He called; not sure if they'd heard him or not.
He had learnt this lesson many times before. He shuffled up against the wall; his gaze was still locked onto the towering toon. Jeepers! He looked like he was waiting for the cue to poison him or something.
'No! Nobody cares what you're doing, they expect this even. Where were we... right! A people...a person? A...'
'Oh, for heavens sakes just move!'
Okay. Okay. Okay! Roger smoothed out the wrinkles in his new, cornflower blue outfit and breathed in deeply, putting his best foot forward he strode. His hands kept opening and closing back into fists; he felt his engagement ring clang against his wedding ring when he attempted to shake the nerves out of him-
Humans moved and revealed an already established friend group: Goofy, Donald and Minnie. Minnie, surprisingly. 'Oh, great, I have an audience to witness this-'
Goofy had his plate stacked, almost as tall as him! with meat and potatoes, Donald was holding two plates in his hands and a third on his head, he moved from his left to his right foot sporadically to keep it balanced, they were most likely for his nephews. Minnie held a large tray in her hands, it had several dishes on it, obviously not all for her.
He cleared his throat silently. Pulled a pencil and paper from his pocket and speed walked-
Now or never!
"Hello!" He blurted.
Goofy looked down to meet his eyes- he's looking at me! Lord, if you're real, save me!-
"So! you probably don't know me- but I know you! Not from school or anything- not that we go to school! But you know what I mean! Ha ha funny! If I sound nervous it's because I am! I swear I'm not usually this deranged! I've just looked up to you for so long! I really, really love your work! Please sign this! I-think-my-heart-just-stopped!"
A moment of silence- that probably was only three seconds, yet felt like three hours- passed before Goofy just smiled.
"Okay." He said. Incredibly normally...as if that mess of an opening speech didn't just happen right in front of him.
Roger squealed under his breath as his idol, his inspiration, his muse!(Second only to Jessica, of course) took the paper and pencil from his hands.
The tall toon continued to smile as he held and straightened out the paper with his right hand. He twirled the graphite pencil in his left a few times before scribbling his signature, big swooping lines captivated the silence until Goofy met Roger's eyes again and extended the now priceless piece of paper out to him.
"There ya go!" He grinned.
Roger looked down at the note:
'From your pal, Goofy.'
A little smiley face was doodled beside it too. Roger could barely contain himself.
"Thank you so much-! Ug! Sorry, I didn't introduce myself properly- I'm-"
"I know who you are, silly! Roger Rabbit! I knew even before that whole 'murder' fiasco!"
Roger stood stiff, staring, mouth agape. Did he really just hear that?
"...wha? Re- you? REALLY!?"
Goofy nodded and maybe Roger had imagined it but- Donald and Minnie seemed to as well.
"Yep! It's nice to have some more toons with a sense of humour and actual talent around here!" Goofy laughed. Before looking off in a very specific direction, almost like he wanted someone to hear him say that. But then he looked down at the duck beside him, friendly grin bright on his face. "Looking at you, Don." He complimented.
Roger faced Donald. He supposed they were somewhat familiar with eachother? Not really, just that for a temporary moment in time, he and Daffy opened Jessica's act at the club. Jessica had said he'd said hello (at least she thought it was hello,) and had told her she could sing... other than that though-
But that didn't stop his giddiness for him as well. Donald was definitely the most popular toon at the moment, he was Disney's problem child-golden boy! A cool combination; Roger nodded enthusiastically at Goofy's statement.
"Hehe..." the duck smiled; looking up at his friend, then Roger from under the rim of the plate on his head. He struggled again, as it wobbled too and thro. Roger stood, readying himself to potentially lift a plate of meat and veg off of a literal legend- but Minnie swooped in, managed to balance a tray with multiple plates in one hand whilst her other: reached out and took the troubled slab of porcelain off her friend's brow.
Her and Roger made eye contact after Donald thanked her. Minnie smiled sweetly at him and he smiled back, still in awe that this was actually happening!
Also- TALENTED!?
"You think I'm talented!?" Roger nearly yelled.
Goofy did his trademark laugh and Roger's cheeks started to hurt from his wide smiling.
"Artists! So critical of themselves!" Was his reply.
"I wouldn't call myself an artist! You on the otherhand- all of you, really!-" he opened his arms, motioning to the three of them.
Donald laughed, Goofy turned bashfully modest but Minnie just shrugged, looking like she didn't think she deserved that same sentiment.
"Hey! I mean it! Really!" Roger said after noticing her down expression.
She smiled to herself, rather embarrassed as she looked off, fixated with a far corner of the room.
"I don't know, it'd be nice to play first fiddle for once... but thank you." She went back to smiling cutely, meeting his eyes once more.
"You hungry? Why don't you get something and sit at our table?" Goofy then asked.
Okay, my heart has actually. Definitely. Exploded.
"You mean it!? That'd be great!"
The three of them waved and each declared different variations of: 'see ya!' Before disappearing through the sea of people to sit down. Roger watched them go, standing still... until he suddenly bounded into motion, grabbing a tray and mindlessly filling his plate. Spinach? Carrots? Gravy? Three kinds?! Yes please!
When he sat down, Donald's three nephews stared at him unblinkingly. He shuffled in his spot... Cleared his throat... Still, he was met with three pairs of wide eyes. Gulping... He turned his attention to his food. He was sat next to Minnie, who now had only one plate to her name. It's contents? a muffin.
Roger had frowned and groaned a bit at that, he didn't want to intrude but it did remind him of when Jessica was ill, not too long ago... When his eyes lifted back up, the triplets were still looking at him. Scarily silent...
Roger tried a nervous smile. That triggered-
"Who are you?" One asked.
"Are you that murderer?" Said the next.
"How does it feel to kill somebody!" Exclaimed the last, slamming his hands down on the table in excitement.
Roger blinked. Goofy chucked and Minnie shook her head with a smile. Roger didn't consider himself 'experienced' with children, despite how he made content which a big population of them saw... and how he worked with a man-child. Despite being married, Roger and Jessica never thought of starting a... quote on quote...family. Because they were eachother's family... plus, rather selfishly, they just wanted to love eachother unconditionally and relentlessly... so, taking in something that required the same treatment, constantly, would be impossible.
Although, he thought he was pretty good at being nice. That'd work.
"Boys!" Donald suddenly scolded, he sat to their left and even though he was wagging his finger sternly at them, his other hand, was motherly stroking the head of the closest triplet to him, Roger thought it was Dewey. Donald dropped his finger and continued-
"Dont be rude! Let your meal stop your mouth!" He picked up Dewey's spoon, loaded it with some food from his own plate and piled it, equally, onto each of his children's plates. Donald picked specific items off of his dish for each triplet: a roasted potato, an extra slice of lamb and a few pieces of cauliflower...That might have looked rather forceful if it weren't for how their eyes lite up, or how they turned to look up at their uncle with a beaming smile. Those foods were probably their favourites.
"Yes, uncle Donald." They all cheered.
Huh, so that's nice parenting. Roger thought. He smiled but decided to still voice that what they'd said wasn't really offensive, to him anyway. Him right now, to be specific.
"Er- no! It's okay... but no, I'm not... but if I see the guy you're referring too, I'll make sure to ask him that."
The triplets grinned and the speakers hanging from the ceiling began to play an appropriate, happy slew of soft... string-like music...
...
Warner bros studios. Burbank California.
...
...
"Easter Yeggs, act 1, take 2... Action!"
Melodious music played... and the filming lights shone harshly onto one toon, a toon who's grey, fur-like markings, stuck statically to the fake grass as he chewed loudly and comically on a brightly coloured carrot.
The rabbit, who was already well trained in ignoring the harsh brightness- and often times soaring heat the lights caused, focused (seemingly) carelessly on the prop book in front of him. The book was empty on the inside, predictably... but had written on its cover: How to multiply. Which in of itself, warranted no pages, for a toon anyway.
He layed on his stomach, legs kicked up behind him... he hummed and chewed, hummed and chewed... until a suspicious, persistent moan overpowered the backing track. The rabbit forced motion lines to appear around him. He closed the book with haste and slammed it to his chest, more motion lines scattered away from him before immediately vanishing into nothing. He knew he nailed his expression; in the corner of his eye, he saw smiles spread onto the blurry faces of the humans surrounding him.
He spun around, his carrot and book were tossed into the air; off screen... he noticed the culprit-
"CUT!" The director called, "Camera change!" He twirled his finger and people rushed to met his demands.
The rabbit was lifted to his feet by two stage hands (as if he couldn't do it himself). The girls took the gag book and carrot out of the shot. Then they powered his face with some more titanium white pigment, lightly dusted over a big, pink, powder puff- all that before getting out of his hair. They flew to stand obediently beside the director. The toon's eye twitched. Suppressed annoyance and anger dangerously close to exploding, all over the set.
He moved to position. The director readied his pointer finger and-
"ACTION!"
A larger, brindle furred rabbit sat, crying big tears into his gloveless hands. He was revealed to be the one behind the moaning. He had his head in his hands... and a basket of brightly coloured eggs beside him as he sat on a log of wood. The smaller, grey rabbit slide into frame, inspecting the sorrowful lagomorph. Quickly he smacked the toon on the back! Although in a more, well-meaning, 'cheer up!' Gesture, that usually required less action lines. But given the other bunny's predicament, it was funnier for big, harsh, spark-like lines, to flutter away from the grey bunny's palm.
"Eeeeehhh? What's up, Doc? Ya sitting on a tack or something?" He layed a hand on the toon's back, comforting-like. Before pulling away to stand upright, hands on his hips as he waited for his co-star to say his line-
The brown rabbit stood, eyes droopy and voice downtrodden with what sounded like snot blocking his air passages-
"I'm the easter rabbit... and I'm supposed to be happy and gay...ehh..." he sighed, "when I deliver the eggs... but my feet are killing me..." he sat back down on the toon log, cradling his large soles, as more tears fell from his face. He rocked back and forth whilst Bugs answered:
"Well, I'm not doing anything! I'll deliver the technicolour hand fruit, for ya!" Bugs spoke, brooklyn accent getting caught on his teeth somewhat- but that was the appeal, he'd heard.
"I don't think you can do it..." the easter bunny motivated.
"Don't worry, Doc! I'll be okay!" Bugs cheered. Then he hopped happily off screen. The egg basket, hanging securely from his arm.
"Well, remember...! Keep smiling..." the easter rabbit called... the camera focused in on him; he turned his baggy eyes to stare into it and whimpered:
"Every year I get some dumb bunny to do my work for me... ehh..."
The camera held for a few moments, then-
"CUT! camera change! Long shot!"
Stage hands clambered together and all heaved the toon background out of frame, instead replacing it with a rotating background. For human films, if a shot needed a person to be walking with the camera following them, then they'd do just that. But for toons it was different, it required an enormous, fully painted background to be moving, meanwhile the toon would walk on the spot, it was just easier that way... for some reason. Once they had everything set, Bugs got his face powdered- again. As well as his basket of eggs shoved back under his arm; once he had control again, he itched his cheeks, adjusted the basket to sit comfortably on his arm and readied himself for his cue.
"Okay! Start rotating in... 3, 2... Action!"
A man almost hidden by equipment, started spinning a large wheel and immediately, the background started a slow... but gradual speed up in rotation. Bugs skipped on the spot, in a way only a toon could. Then without getting winded, he sung a tune:
"Here's the easter rabbit
Hooray!
Making life funny
Hooray!"
Hands flew up, signalling to the man behind the wheel. He stopped and Bugs timed his hault to seamlessly fit-
"Phooey...!" He grumbled.
"I'm glad I don't have to do this for a livin'...!"
'ha, that's funny', he thought, face starting to itch again and eye aching to twitch. But he powered through it. When the rotation started again, he almost mechanically, resumed his wide-eyed, smiley expression.
"I am gettin' looney-Tuney, tetched in the head
This whole thing is gooney, I shoulda stood in bed"
"CUT! Let's see if we can finish the next scene before lunch!"
The set was changed again and a downward angle was achieved. Just for a second however, before it resumed its regular position. Bugs was stood outside a toon shack, grasping its handle-
"Well, here's the joyous bunny's first stop!"
He stated optimistically, before allowing himself in.
Another set change. 'My jaw is starting to hurt...' Bugs thought; he couldn't stop gritting his teeth. Watching dead-eyed, as the other toon to star in the short, got pulled to their feet.
"Here's the easter rabbit
Hooray
The happy easter rabbit-"
He continued to sing, circling around the small, red headed toon, who sat in a wooden box... holding a gun to their lips, imitating a pacifier.
"Here, kid, have an egg." Bugs said and with an outstretched hand, held an egg to the child... After of course the camera changed, again.
"I want an easter egg! I want an easter egg!" The toon yelled. His pale hand shot up and smashed the painted egg into Bugs' face, despite the Easter theme, it was raw egg that suddenly covered Bugs' face.
"I want an easter egg! I want-" the toon kid continued.
"Why, you little--"
The grey rabbit grumbled, a white handkerchief covered his very genuine scowl as he scrubbed away the toon yolk. The red headed child circled him.
Then kicked him. Hard.
'Funny how humans think this doesn't hurt.'
"Yeow!" Bugs yelped. The handkerchief flew away from him and the two began to dance- the kid advancing forward slowly... while Bugs cautiously backed up, like a true rabbit cornered.
Only about three seconds had passed when-
"CUT!"
Bugs stared straight ahead, into the stage lights. He brought a hand up to sheild his stinging eyes.
"What?" He asked. Voice nearing on pathetically drained, rather than extremely pissed.
"Bugs! You missed your line!" The director's form was obstructed by the harsh light. But its presence alone, made his skin crawl and his teeth scrap against each other, once again.
"My wha-"
"Your line, Mr. Bunny, your line!" The figure continued.
The two girls from before rushed to his side. Pushing the script in Bugs' face.
"Look:" the brunette explained, "'Someone'll get hurt, probably me-'"
He nodded, pretending to care. The girls were now getting on the director's nerves, (oh, what a shame) judging by how he called them both over and dismissed the mistake entirely. He instructed Bugs to just carry on from were he left off. He found it stupid how they wouldn't just let him do it again... but he didn't have the energy to argue.
However, that thought lingered when he, or another toon, did mess up and they shot it again. Why was his slip-up any different? Admittedly however, it didn't bother him that much, it was just something he found himself thinking about when zoning out. This was probably because things like this weren't uncommon. They liked to keep him in the dark about what they were doing. He couldn't read minds, if they communicated between themselves that'd they'd redo that scene again, he certainly didn't know about it.
The call for lunch reverberated off the walls. They had almost finished act 1.
He didn't complain... but today he felt an itching. That itching only grew when people got in his space again, tossing he and Elmer off of the stage, to properly organise it for after lunch. They had shared a glance and in that moment, he'd never felt closer to his estranged coworker. Elmer had shrugged and walked away; Bugs stayed put. Anger boiling and brain bouncing within him-
He was just going to have a civil conversation. No matter how much his teeth ached for an argument.
"McKimson?" He called.
"Hmm?" The director met his eyes. "Bugs! Knew that was you, what do ya need?"
"Can I just, have a word?" He replied. Fingers feeling heavy suddenly. His nonexistent heart bounced in his chest. "I'm gonna give this mac a piece of my mind-" the imaginary devil on his shoulder cackled. The angel on the other, swiftly rebutted: "no, no you're not."
"Of course, one moment." McKimson smiled.
Another wave of uncoordinated rage filled his being.
McKimson guided him. They ended up enveloped in the dimness of a corner. Stage hands moved about in front of them, completely oblivious to Bugs' tapping foot and McKimson's dumb grin.
"Listen," Bugs began, "I'm not having a rhubarb with you- and I know you haven't been here all that long. But every time you're in the director's chair, everybody's significantly more handsy."
"Excuse me?"
"I can stand up by myself, I don't need people constantly moving me about, do you understand?"
He apologised profusely, Bugs felt a disgusting mixture of satisfaction and rage. Satisfaction at his guilty face... and rage at the fact that this grown man, had to be told that being dragged about bothered him.
"Thank you, Don't let it be a problem again." He responded. Then walked away without turning back. Stride conveying nothing but a professional calm. But inside he was bubbling.
He flew open his star door (not bothering to properly lock it), passed his chaise lounge, piled high with props and just stood, still in the middle of the red- nearing on burgandy, room. He stretched, bending his back backwards and shaking his limbs out wildly. Sighing as a small rush of pain shot up to his head, he plopped into his vanity chair, the pain slowly fading.
'Missed my line...geez, I wonder why.'
"Urg...keep smiling... what a crock of-"
"Knock, knock!" Came a spluttering voice. Despite how well-and-truly frustrated he was, Bugs felt a smile stretch onto his face, without even trying. He lifted his head, through the reflective glass of the mirror, Daffy met his gaze. The duck winked cheekily, pointed finger guns at him and leaned back. When the door clicked shut behind him, Bugs laughed through his nose. He turned around to face him, sitting backwards in his vanity stool.
"Miss me?" He asked.
Daffy grinned.
"You kidding? I was flying without you... I came here to comfort you! Knowing you'd be a wreak without my essence in your presence for longer than 10 minutes...! A mope without a hope without my body close! A horse without its rider...! Consider yourself lucky! If I left you any longer you'd be dead! No need to thank me!"
"Hmmm..." Bugs hummed with a smile.
"That sounded very detailed, duck." He continued, his voice it's usual smug but laced with something else.
"Sounds almost autobiographical..." now in front of the mirror, his smile was bright; he watched as Daffy started to rummage through his pile of discarded clothes. He always stole something of his, claiming that he was only 'sharing'.
"I can see you, you know." He chuckled.
Daffy scowled at the back of his head before meeting his eyes through the looking glass, his pupils looked lost for a moment, Bugs let out another chuckle.
"Well! I can see you seeing me so, I guess we both can see." Daffy quipped before walking over.
He nudged Bugs, jabbing his elbow into grey paint as he used his hips to shove him more off of the stool.
"Hey!" Bugs found himself laughing. Glad to get a jolt of joy after the day he'd had so far.
"This stool is big enough for the two of us! Move!" Daffy laughed back.
But with his laugh being... predictably, Daffy, he was basically just taking quick breaths in. To anyone else, it my have sounded like he inhaled a hard candy and couldn't breath- but Bugs found that he liked that he knew it wasn't that, that he was close enough to know... also, it just sounded somewhat nice.
"I am! I'd just like a warning."
"warning-storming..." Daffy stuck out his tongue. Then planted his bottom, firmly into the leather cushioning of the chair. He gave another mischievous smile, this one read: 'ha, won.'
Daffy started playing with everything on his desk, per the norm... but a bit after he grabbed Bugs' latest script, laughing under his breath whilst he read, the rabbit finally spoke up:
"How did story pitch go?" He asked.
"Let me tell ya, it's no 'Daffy Doodles'... who's running the show down there anyway?" Daffy replied, turning a page as he did.
"The same macs that always have..." Bugs frowned. Absentmindedly playing with the makeup pots in front of him.
For something like thirty seconds, he just watched Daffy as his fingers fiddled. Daffy kept flipping through pages and giggling. Eventually, he met his eyes. He smiled, softly and silently, sweet and sincere. Happy. Bugs found himself throwing a tender smile back.
"Are you alright?" The duck asked, breaking the silence. He was less 'looney' than his normal self. More cautious and quiet.
"I'm fine." Bugs responded plainly. Picking at the vanity's peeling paint.
Daffy tapped his hand.
"Don't do that, it drives me crazy." He unintentionally spat all over Bugs' face.
"It's my table." Bugs retaliated. Wiping saliva off of his cheeks.
"You... you look different, what happened?" Daffy continued; with some hesitation.
No response. Bugs will admit, he really didn't have a valid enough reason to want to blow up so much. The girls were annoying, the filming process is long and tiring... watching one off toons can be painful- but it wasn't new.
Daffy wasn't good at being a comforter and Bugs found himself appreciating that in the sickest way; Daffy would ask or press for details if he saw he was upset but he wouldn't get very far; he wasn't the biggest fan of awkward atmospheres. He'd say something nice, give him a leftover chocolate bar and excuse himself from the room until he felt like it was over. Bugs didn't have to speak about it and that was a good thing. The things he'd been doing recently, he was in no way proud of... and he honestly wanted to just go on like they never happened once he'd had his fill.
But apparently trust was good in a relationship.
"... do ya... wanna talk about it?" Daffy's voice was painfully cumbersome. His face the same, when Bugs looked at it he chortled.
"I'm fine. Just frustrated."
Bugs knew he shouldn't have said 'frustrated' as soon as it left his mouth.
"Who was the director?" Daffy spoke with a greater level of confidence than before, "If they're anything like that Bob Clampett was, then he's definitely got a bias. Why do those types work with toons anyway?"
Daffy scoffed.
"Talk about Bob Clam-sweat, peee-ewww! Oh! Ahoo! Ahoo!"
The toon was an enigma. Something was misleading about him. People assumed that he was stupid, silly, daffy, every minute of the day. He was silly, he'd loose himself in his silliness sometimes, joking around and poking fun when he really shouldn't, doing his famous scream-laugh whilst... but he could also be endearingly oblivious. Sweet when he wanted to be... but also ruthlessly sarcastic, dry witted, smart and selfish. It was strange. He wasn't supposed to be like that... but he was.
They drew him to be silly. Just in the same way they drew Bugs: they sketched into him ideas of extreme sneakiness and calculation! But he was also suave and cool... extroverted and strong-willed... that's what he felt like he was, not to sound too conceited. His scripted equivalents more exaggerated responses did appear, just in slightly different situations. But that was still him.
But how could Daffy own sarcasm and unknowing narcissism like it was ingrained into him? It was amazing.
"You know why, Daffy..." He decided to answer the question instead, "...but no, seriously, I'm just tired." Bugs responded after a moment of blind staring.
'Why do those types work with toons anyway?'
Because we're just props... which people can project their disgusting opinions onto with little to no backlash-
But it wasn't a director like that. Well, Bugs couldn't really tell; he was only directing since '46 and despite common misconception, people can have a year of good behaviour under their belt but still never show their true colours... the director was Robert McKimson and Bugs was disappointed that a talented guy, especially for his age, turned out to be another toon-user, without even knowing it, no less.
"So... you're okay?" Daffy was cringing.
'Poor guy...' it was funny to look at though.
"Yep. Do I look okay?" Bugs smirked.
"I think you look great!" Daffy mellowed back into his usual 'fast talking', eccentric self; then he mumbled in an embarrassed tone:
"Just... wanted to check..."
Okay, that was just sweet.
Bugs couldn't help but beam. He had the gross urge to smother the toon in front of him with all his love.
"Where do ya wanna eat, duck?" Bugs tried his best to elevate his own, genuine happiness, by using his voice. Talking louder and a bit higher. Pushing everything else in the background of his mind to the deepest corners, just to live in this moment.
He even brushed his hand over Daffy's. The duck looked up, wide eyed at the grey bunny's warm smile. He immediately glowed, smiled like he'd won an academy award and Bugs felt sickly-sweet knowing he could do that to someone...
"Anywhere that sells chicken." Daffy answered.
.
.
They walked to the reception together. Daffy waved when people called his name, a smile -which shifted from excited to smug- prominent and wide on his bill... but Bugs didn't even look when people waved in his direction.
The hare opened his mouth to speak when they arrived at the desk- but Daffy had already inacted that same plan. They were both extroverts at heart. Daffy liked being lazy but he was still outgoing. If that made any sense... their synergy in that moment made him grin a bit. But not for long.
Daffy big-headedly 'sweet talked' until the woman behind the counter got the message. She handed them a pair of toon 'passes', lanyards that were reserved for toons; they'd definitely be recognised and hounded in public, by children and super fans and idiots. Although... not many people really cared because toons were just 'a thing', surely some of the novelty had worn off since 1908. But there's still a lot of humans who don't know everything about toons, or cared to know.
Yeah, they couuuuld eat at the studio... but he and Daffy preferred not to.
The cards dangled from their necks as they walked. The colours were bright and 'brand' red. On it had the company's name as well as a string of bold words, written in yellow text:
"Yes, I'm me but I'm on break. No looney business, please."
Per-request, they stopped at a random place. Because of course they had chicken.
They did this most of the time. But generally they liked to 'spread themselves thin' when it came to this stuff... that meant, a majority of the time, they'd be eating at a different place.
"Lay off the carrots." Daffy said once they'd received their food. Both comfortable and seated.
The duck lifted a finger to the sky. Sporting a 'matter-of-fact' attitude, he continued:
"I can't be with someone who has orange hands."
Daffy was just being silly. He was just heightening and exaggerating his emotions. Because it was funny... and he was happy. Bugs pulled a lopsided grin.
The hare hovered over his meal of vegetable soup and carrots.
"You know full well that only happens to humans." Bugs pulled his side of carrots closer to him, shielding the dish with his arm. "These are real carrots; don't deprive me of this." He semi joked.
"Fine, die young, see how I care."
He was slightly disgusted at Daffy's poultry lunch; being a bunny, he was drawn to vaguely resemble as such and sometimes that resulted in toons of this kind, having tendencies that aligned with their real-life animal counterparts. Even if the tendencies were untrue, if the artist who drew them thought they were, there was a possibility they'd gain it, by sheer force of imagination that flowed from the artist to the pencil.
He couldn't stand meat, cheese... or anything like that.
Pure black coffee, oatmeal in water, fruits and vegetables... It wasn't everyone's favourite but it was his.
Daffy on the otherhand-
He was nothing but salt and sugar: a glass of chocolate malted milk, sat tall beside his plate of fried spring chicken and french fried potatoes.
It was weird to see an anthropomorphic duck, chomping down in his 'not-really' cousin. But whatever.
Daffy kicked his legs back and forth happily, chewing while wide-eyed and without a care in the world. Bugs found it cute, as anyone should... but he was also, just ever so slightly... ashamedly jealous... at how comfortable Daffy was within himself... especially! When he'd suddenly realised, that people from a table opposite them, were staring openly at him, at them. Whispering loudly to themselves about how: 'that was Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny.' To prove a point, Daffy opened his eyes as wide as he possibly could and stared straight back.
The table that fixated on them, were a family of four. The children were teenagers and despite the fact that Warner and Bugs alike, prided themselves on how the looney tunes were for a more... 'adult oriented' audience, seeing two adults in the flesh, geek-ing out whilst their children hid behind napkins... was a sight to see... and not exactly a pretty one.
"Isn't he ridiculous?" Said the father of the family. Pointing at Daffy's expression.
"Do you even hear yourself? Because you're sounding more like the ridiculous one, mister." Daffy whispered to Bugs from behind his greased hands.
Soon; the kids dragged their parents out of the restaurant. Bugs breathed deeply once they'd vanished.
"Why do ya think it's called a cartoon?" Daffy asked once they'd left. He'd said it as if what had just happened, didn't.
"What?" Bugs turned to face him. Humoured.
"I get the toon part, just not the first bit-"
"'Car'?"
"Yeah, why's that?"
A brief silence passed as Bugs went back to eating his carrots. Daffy waited expectedly, his palms were flat on the table, his pupils curiously staring him down.
Bugs shook his head.
"... Why do ya think I have the answers to everything?"
"You know," Daffy stuck up his nose... beak? Whatever it was, he stuck it up.
"Porky said the same thing when I asked him: why's it called 'piggy back'?! I need more intellectual friends..."
The duck retorted, finishing off his sentiment with a loud crunch of a fried potato.
Bugs sat still for a moment.
"... Why is it called 'piggy back'?"
"See!?" Daffy perked.
Several loud gulps of malted milk, then resounded-
"... Speaking of cartoons!" Daffy started once he'd finished. Chocolate covering his lips. "Are you going to take me to that Disney travesty, once it comes out?"
"If you're positive-"
"Positively!"
"You're not going to make commentary the whole time?" Bugs raised an eyebrow.
"Nope!"
"Really?" He wasn't convinced.
"Yes!" Daffy raised his voice. Frustration rang clear in his response to the hare's smug trepidation.
Anyone else might have found it strange how Daffy wanted to see a film staring his, diametrical, mallard rival. However, Daffy and Donald's act -and therefore, conflict- was scripted, if it wasn't obvious enough... and any mac who didn't know, could easily find out otherwise if they read the club's playbook:
'All acts are throughly premeditated as to not cause harm to our audience.'
"So what if I'm loud and overbearing?! You still fell for it." Daffy crossed his arms.
Couldn't argue with that.
"...Daf, stop fishing for compliments, you know you're-"
'One fish away from becoming a heron.' is what Bugs was going to say... but-
"-simply the best..?" Daffy grinned.
"No, actually you're-"
"The most devilishly handsome toon- NO! MAN! In the the world?" The duck continued to interrupt, attracting a few stares with his sudden rise in volume.
"I'm never going to speak, huh?" Bugs deadpanned.
"Fine!" He spat, literally and figuratively, "Trample me with your disconcerting words...! Which I'm sure you're struggling to think of on the spot."
With a roll of his eyes, Bugs conceded; in a way (as well as many others) he knew best: surprise.
"...Alright...!" He sighed, raising his hands slightly before lowering his voice from a loud exhale of breath, to a hushed whisper, one only Daffy and the hard wood of the table could hear:
"Ya got me, ya Hotsy-Totsy bird, you."
He remarked teasingly.
That stunned Daffy. Just as predicted.
After chugging down the rest of his beverage in an effort to calm himself, Daffy rolled his shoulders and giggled. Half surprised and infatuated, half (which towards the end, fully took over) conceited validation.
"Aww... thanks."
"No problem."
A moment of silence passed; this time, Bugs was expectedly waiting. Watching as the toon beside him, just resumed eating his chicken with his hands, eyes somewhere else.
"...Ahem." he eventually coughed.
"Yes...?" Daffy looked up from his plate, a sliver of food hanging from his mouth. Bugs didn't give him an answer.
"Sore throat?" Daffy guessed.
Bugs planted his face into his hands.
"... urg... and you say:..."
The duck blinked... and for a second, just stared at the floor. Puzzled. Then realisation lit up his features-
"Oh! Sorry, you're a bird too."
"Thank you." Bugs groaned.
"Did ya hear about Maroon?" Daffy derailed after a gasp left his beak, clearly indicating: that he'd meant to tell Bugs this far sooner but had forgot.
"What's to hear? He kicked the bucket."
"No! Back in Downtown, they say they've got an animation department down there!"
"I thought they couldn't draw." Bugs stated. His non-question, was charmingly muffled between audible chomps of carrot.
Daffy shrugged.
"They're learning too..."
The hare nodded. He looked down at his plate... he was saddened, saddened that his bowl of orange goodness, was almost empty-
"Bugs?"
He focused his attention back onto his date.
"Yes...?" He asked apprehensively; Daffy seemed strangely focused and serious... looking blank faced at Bugs' own. His eyes were big and locked onto him confidently.
"I'll get better at romantic ques, I promise."
-Was his answer. He tilted his head afterwards, an infectiously happy smile, then spread over his face.
Bugs felt his face burn pleasingly... he was in awe. Smiling wide he whispered:
"... Thank you."
All of the joyrides and pain... somehow they didn't matter in comparison to seeing Daffy smile, his smile was so uncharacteristically sweet... loving and grounded, without a surprise punchline... or even a suspicion of one. Bugs felt his heart ache with happiness and cold-hot chills ran up his arms.
He couldn't stop grinning as he continued to eat his carrots.
.
Daisy was so stubborn.
In more ways than one. First, she told him what he already knew:
Her and Donald had a public split, she applied for full custody- she had to wait around two months for the court hearing to actually happen...
Which is completely normal. But she acted like it was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened. That was probably heightened by the fact that during the preliminary hearing, Donald was having a far better time than her, things were obviously in his favour. It was only after that- after months of self preparation, only to be absolutely plummeted by Donald's clean record- did Daisy realise that she needed help.
With maybe 12 weeks to spare, in which time the court would write up their final report. Daisy came to him, with wads of cash in her pockets..
She really should've bit the bullet and perhaps he should've denied her request, after hearing about the story thus far, that is. But Eddie was still struggling and the job paid well, especially from A-listers like Daisy. Plus, he liked snooping.
But just as Daisy's story went: Donald was spotless.
His temper was barely existant, only truly apparent when he played monopoly or some other game... and you couldn't go to hell over a bad temper. It wasn't even destructive. In the cartoons, when he worked with his nephews, they were always smiling cheerily, this was because they found it funny to watch their uncle fake-explode; he wasn't like that at all.
Daisy said Donald had just about gone crazy, Eddie listened when she'd explained and admittedly... it did sound bad.
He'd been gone a while and Eddie could sympathise with that.
She said he had difficulty sleeping, he didn't like crowds, he was hyper-alert, trying to gauge every possible threat when they were out. He wasn't angry or abusive but he was more distant with her- and even with the kids at first. But he quickly fell back in love with them, so quickly, she was sure the children barely realised. But in love with her? He was not.
However... Eddie was uneducated about toons and 'brain health'... Teddy wouldn't have been- but he was. So when he researched the topic, working at his best-est ability... all he found was how studies deemed: the possibility of toons having 'illnesses of the brain', inconclusive. Either way, Daisy commented on how Donald was seeing some: 'toon help'. He'd never hurt anyone in one of his 'dazed' episodes, he fed the triplets everyday, dressed them, cleaned them, entertained them, he wasn't incapacitated... so he was, again, in the clear.
Eddie had about given up. Actually, probably fully.
But oh well, like Dolores said, he didn't have to fulfil her needs to still be paid. An eye for an eye...? A nickel for a... dime?- basically, she was rich and he wasn't so who cared anyway?
So he continued to read his brother's old books. Some were more... childish than others... but even those Eddie found himself liking somewhat. He had not a care in the world as he continued to read, a book more to his tastes: The history of toon evolution.
First with caveman sketches, then Egyptian etchings, years of these drawings, each bearing the same goal: ingraining life into the lines. Zoetropes were revolutionary, soon afterwards, came the first toons. It was at this point when Dolores came back. She'd asked him what he wanted to eat, he said pork and as he read about the introduction and later semi-abolishment of speech bubbles, the salty sweet smell of bacon filled the apartment.
The golden light and cool air that flew in from the window made Eddie smile deeper- he didn't even realise he'd been smiling.
Dolores yelled that she'd be plating their food in five minutes. Eddie called out a response, then turned another page. He was reading a section on: 'the rising stars of the 1930s.'
These included: Popeye, the Looney Tunes, the original Tom and Jerry, now Dick and Larry... and coincidentally (or not really) Donald Duck, who first appeared in film, in 1934.
Humming pleasantly, Eddie continued to bounce his pupils over the words-
Then he stopped. His eyes fell on a sentence... a bit further down than his original placement. He pulled a confused grimace, then moved his face closer to the page, as if his eyes were the problem- but this wasn't a 'Tragic Life of Porky Pig' where something like this would be an obvious smear.
No, this was official Disney, official Warner, official Fleischer- it was a history book. Said so right on the cover, engraved in silver metallic... there was no mistaking it.
His finger moved under the words he thought he'd seen, his inner voice repeated the sentence over and over... his brain was bouncing, excited at this new revelation! But also worried... dreadfully puzzled and perhaps a bit... downtrodden at the sentence... so much so, that he started creating storylines that would make what he'd seen better- make them make sense... but they were stupid. This was real.
This was it.
"Take that! That and that!" The small toon yelled, thrusting a generic medieval blade against one of the same make- the owner of which was his identical brother. Only right now, he didn't have any brothers; right now he was the world famous, world adored... Denis Fowl!
What was their uncle's friends' office- was also a pit, filled to the bottomless bottom, with golden coins, a wreaked ship and a dismantled fairytale cottage. A cottage that was also known as: a large wardrobe all three could squeeze into.
Medieval swords? English style cottages? Pirates? Yep, the timeline was thoroughly thought through.
Spinning so his emerald, silk cape danced around him, Louie- no, Denis Fowl, took the high ground. The dismantled ship (vanity) wobbled dangerously beneath his feet and strangely, his pursuer: Michael Rodent reached out to brace him.
But once he found his footing again, they resumed their positions.
"You'll never defeat me, Michael!" Denis jabbed his sword into the villian's bubble. "This has gone on far too long!"
Michael straightened his posture, scoffed, then adjusted his helmet.
"You don't know who you're dealing with, I am the almighty!-"
"Enough! Pathetic lifeforms!"
A thundering voice interrupted.
"Oh god! Not the ruthless... evil, vile-!"
"YES! tis I... Dewey duck!"
"Dewey!"
The golden coins, the cottages, the pirate embellishments- they all faded as Louie broke the reality. A silk cape was actually a green dress, with it's arms tied around his neck, imitating a cape. Albeit a very weird one.
Huey's helmet, was his red cap; just altered with black lace and red flowers. Two fake roses, in fact. They were attached to the sides of the hat. Almost like ears.
"What?" Dewey asked, he looked confused as he stood: high upon Minnie's desk.
"You're supposed to be Dewdrop Duck, not yourself!" Louie scowled.
"Yea! I was writing the script before uncle Donald tucked us in! Remember?" Huey affirmed.
Dewey jumped down from the desk, grunting and rolling his eyes.
"I don't want to be her!" He confessed, "I want to play Denis!"
"It's my turn to play Denis! I earned it!" Louie stated, outstretching his arm when his brother came closer. Keeping a distance between Dewey and the dress thrown across his back.
"He's right, Dewey-" Huey mumbled. Spectating his siblings awkwardly.
"Fine!" he relented. "But can we pretend that for this scene, Dewdrop is still trapped in the caves from before? I wanna be me."
Huey and Louie debated the question in a shared glance, not happy that their story (mostly Huey's) was being changed; when they looked back to Dewey, he was comically pleading. Eyes wide and pupils big, hands clasped and lip trembling. That always worked on uncle Donald, all three of them could attest to that. But being on the other side of it- it was really hard to say no.
"Well... okay, I'll just rewrite it at home." Huey sighed.
"Okay! Rewind!" Dewey brightened up and ran back behind the desk. At that, his brothers followed: moving back into their places.
Louie cleared his throat; the scenery from the fantasy, slowly floated back into the room.
"This has gone on far too long, Michael, give up!"
"Denis! You don't know who you're dealing with... I am the vengeful!-"
"Enough! Pathetic lifeforms!"
They both spun. Faux gasps escaping them.
"What you see isn't a mirage... yes! Tis I... Dewey duck!"
The following five minutes contained: a mad chase around the office, things from shelves fell, papers flew- but the triplets each took turns in pursuing eachother, all oblivious. Each of their character's motivations, were written out and solidified. Each of them, had an objective to fade at least one of them. Denis was the hero, the only one's who wanted to kill him were Michael and Dewdrop.
In the original script, Dewdrop was supposed to fade Denis. But in a magical miracle of love, Denis was to return. Getting back up when he was knocked down, just like always!
But now the script had been switched, no-one knew what they were doing; they all ended up chasing eachother with cardboard swords, laughing. Instead, wordlessly exchanging their story game, for a game of tag.
Louie ran, lungless body somehow out of breath. He reached forward, finally poking Dewey with his craft weapon.
"Nooo! I'm dying!" Dewey haulted. Then limply fell onto the messy floor. He reached a hand up to the the ceiling, rolling his eyes back and groaning.
"I'm... fading into... 2d lines... this is it! Lights out...! Goodbye cruel world!-"
Click!
All of their heads spun, they were like three needy dogs. All of them hoping to see-
"Uncle Donald!"
They celebrated. The three, then dropped their weapons; running joyfully. Readying themselves to jump into their uncle's grasp. Donald, who's arms were open wide, stretched a smile onto his bill.
He wrapped his arms around them.
He kissed them each on the head. Three times for each duckling and after one final biiiiig squeeze, he dropped his hold. Standing up and smiling down at them.
"I missed you too."
They looked up at him and smiled. Movement suddenly came from behind the doorframe. The triplets watched, curious, until their honorary uncle Goofy appeared.
"Hiya boys." he waved.
"Hello, Goofy." they replied in perfect unison.
"You boys, better help me tidy this mess for Minnie." Donald extended an arm to the pile of clothes on the floor, also know as: the heap of golden coins. The triplets smiled nervously.
"Supper's waiting at home." Donald cooed. Patting them on the head before guiding them further into the mess.
As they walked, the jingling of metal was apparent; in uncle Donald's gentle fist, was Minnie's office key. That answered the question of her absence. She probably went home.
Donald opened the curtains to reveal: an almost ink-black sky, staring them down.
They didn't realise how late it'd gotten, that's movies for you, shorts are shorter.
They'd filmed later before, just not recently.
Yeah, she'd definitely gone home.
"I want cheerios!" Louie cheered.
"I want marshmallow cones!"
"I want yum-yum cones too! Actually- both! Can I have both uncle Donald?" Dewey bounced on the balls of his webbed feet.
"The windows aren't open." Donald commented; the little ducklings began to run and jump around him, "-it's like a green house in here!"
"Uncle Donald! Uncle Donald! Are we gonna be in the film yet?" Dewey asked.
"I don't think so-"
Cool air filled the space when Donald clicked the window latch open-
"Uncle Donald, look at me! I can finally cross my eyes!"
A short quiet blanketed the room as everyone turned to Heuy, who for a moment-struggled to actually get his eyes to stare into the centre of his face. After a few 'wait-'s and 'let me start over!'s, he pulled it off.
Three pairs of eyes, just blinked several times at the sight.
Donald praised him however. Clapping and having... perhaps, a bit of an overzealous reaction to just some crossed eyes. But he was a hundred percent genuine.
"That's great, Heuy! I'm sure it'll come in handy."
"Uncle Donald!-"
"Louie sweetheart," Donald interrupted-
"You're going to trip over that dress, it's scaring me."
Louie looked down at the hem of the green dress that still hung from his neck. His uncle then untied its arms, causing the garment to be removed from Louie's self.
"I don't want you to strangle yourself."
"I know what I'm doing!" Louie laughed.
"Well... just ask Minnie if you can wear a different dress next time, a shorter one."
Donald compromised. He loosely folded the dress in his hands, then collected some disgarded garments from the floor.
As he walked away and to the wardrobe - Dewey leaned into Heuy:
"We were supposed to ask...?" he whispered from behind his hand.
Once Donald organised the clothes back into their separate drawers, he turned- and with an optimistic but authoritarian clap of his hands, stated:
"Now, tidy-up, then you can get your yummy cones-"
"Yum-Yum cones, uncle Donald." The triplets corrected.
"Yummy, yes... come on, clean up."
The team of five dispersed. Starting from the corners of the dismantled office- and working around, until they were in the middle.
"Thanks for sticking up for me today... and last time." Donald muttered as they moved along. Goofy shook his head earnestly.
"No problem, Don... sorry I had to hit your caboose...haha..."
"No, it was better than having their vision seen... I just hope I did it well enough-"
"I don't see the fuss, you're a great actor Donald, you even convinced me you were a starving farmer on the brink of madness back there-"
"It's because they think it's funny... or atmospheric... I think, I'm not sure."
Donald shrugged with nervousness wriggling under his skin, then an unexplainable rush of-
He closed his eyes tight. Gripping the cup in his hands -or more rather, squeezing it- until his paper knuckles were as white as his 'feathers'. He took a few deep breathes... before finally peeling open his eyes.
All better.
Thankfully, Goofy hadn't noticed.
"You're gonna be okay, Don, I promise you." The lanky dog encouraged.
Donald forced his face to make a smile.
"Uncle Donald!" One of his children had skipped over- "Look, look! An empty champaign glass!"
"Put it back, Dewy."
"Aww..."
"Uncle Donald! What about this notebook? It's sparkly!"
"I'll buy you a nice sparkly book of your own tomorrow, Heuy; put it back-"
Afterwards, he aimed his attention back at his friend, "Thanks, Goofy."
Another impassioned expression washed over the toon's face-
"Don't mention it... Good luck on your report, I know you'll win!"
"That means a lo-"
"Yeah!" Heuy barged into their conversation. Confidently beaming.
"Definitely!" Dewey added.
"Promise you will, uncle Donald!" Louie begged, more on-edge than the rest.
Donald's heart ached at the sight.
"Oh, boys... no matter what happens. I'll always be your uncle." He kneeled down, brushing his palms over each of their heads.
They didn't seem too satisfied with that answer. They pulled their uncle down by the neck and shoulders, just to hug him more closely. Goofy stood tall above the scene.
"Listen to me! I know he will! Ya see, your uncle Goofy can see into the future...!"
"OooOooo!" The three immediately brightened. Faces hopeful and souls hopelessly gullible.
"Goofy sees happiness...happiness and..." he pressed his hands against his skull. Groaning as he convincingly pretended to be desperately making out a vision.
"Champagne?" Dewey butted in.
"Sparkly books?" Followed by Huey.
"Aunt Daisy's paint smashed into the dirt!" Louie hit his palm with his fist-
"Louie!" His uncle chided.
"What?" The duck shrugged. Heedless.
"Well!" Goofy redirected the conversation, "I see two out of three of those-"
"I bet it's mine." Dewey blustered.
"You're kidding! I'm getting a notebook tomorrow! Uncle Donald said so himself!"
"It's mine guys! Don't even pretend that it isn't, it's sad watching you lie-" Louie gloated.
"Goofy sees Uncle Donald in your future! To stay!" The dog voiced above all others.
The children screeched, cheered and danced at the obvious display- but whatever it was, it didn't matter; Donald and Goofy dotingly watched their celebration.
"YAY!"
"I knew it!"
"YAY, YES!"
"This calls for a celebratory drink! Right? Uncle Donald?" His blue nephew laughed as he presented to his uncle: the champagne glass from earlier.
"Dewey..."
Donald eyed his nephew. His voice stern yet his bright face, conveyed something different.
.
.
In the calm Suburbia that was: 'Muybridge, 1893rd street', in a luxurious, white, toon home... who's walls were tastefully decorated with an appropriate overgrow of leaves and flowers. Daisy Duck sat, head in her hands as she breathed deeply. Her lungs had just been heaving and she felt a headache start to burn and press against the sides of her head. After another breath that made her head spin- she looked up and wiped the crusted tears off her face 'feathers'; she leaned back. Trying to find reason... it was such a quiet day.
It was that stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!-
Her head throbbed.
Breathe.
Donald and her were always friends; with something that smelt like love. He was alright... contrary to his films, he was quite calm, a family man at heart, who didn't always have a lot to say and sometimes seemed stone faced and empty... but he really wasn't. He was difficult to understand but she had gotten the hang of it eventually. He didn't snore, he didn't swear, he liked wearing black which complimented her blue and pink outfits.
She might have fallen in love with him.
She'd told him so before he'd left for war and he seemed happy. Happy and willing to make more of an effort to actually be able to love her himself. She'd kissed him goodbye and he was gone. Just her and her boys... They were pretty agitated... but they had had their moments.
But then he came back- he still didn't snore... but now he talked in his sleep and made a habit of staring blankly into corners, his breath would be unsteady. He'd jump away from her touch, he'd hold onto his knees and rock back and forth, slamming his head into a wall once. He'd let a few foul words pass his lips, all in hushed whispers.
He was daft.
But they couldn't take her word for it. They wouldn't, it was 'impossible', they said. She'd lost any hope of living her life to the companies standards but when the one thing she could have looked impossible to keep, there was only one solution... but even that was crumbling too-
The small table beside her shook. She jumped at the vibrations and consequential noise. She got herself together quickly, smoothing down her wet hands to handle the phone.
"Hello?" Her tired voice croaked. Fingers nervously pulling at the phone cord.
"Daisy? It's Valiant, I think I've finally found what you've been looking for."
Notes:
Just a disclaimer, when Daisy says 'daft' that's a reflection of how mental health was viewed in this time, those aren't my actual thoughts on mental health, especially considering that I have ocd. Although I don't have ptsd, when I was at my worst, my ocd caused me to scream almost constantly and hit my head when I'd get an intrusive thought. (much like I wrote Donald as doing) So yep, that's not my thinking. Just thought I'd say that in case people were feeling iffy about it x same about "brain health" because I think they'd speak more crudely towards it, without even realising it.
And! Because I love historical accuracy, some of you might have noticed how I lumped tom and Jerry/Dick and Larry, in with popular toons of the 30s. Who tf is Dick and Larry!? And weren't tom and Jerry in the 40s? WELLLLLL. in the 30s, there was another duo called tom and Jerry. But they changed their names once tom and Jerry, the cat and mouse were created, to avoid confusion. Just google Tom and Jerry Van Beuren.
I didn't know this either and it was really bizarre to see.
Also, when Bugs says: "I'm not having a rhubarb with you." Rhubarb was 1940s slang for "argument" and I think that out of everyone, the looney tunes are most likely to use slang often. Plus it was just fun to look up 40s slang.
Oh yeah, on a lighter note: Baffy's a thing.