Santa Monica, 1984
"Dad! I'm going out, be back soon okay?"
Kitty stood in the lobby of her single family home, pulling her denim jacket off the coat rack and collecting her duffel bag. From behind her, she heard her father hobble through the doorway holding his coffee. "Going out? Where ya headed?"
"I have school today remember?"
"Is that today?" he sipped from his mug, "Well, alright. Be careful. Ya got lunch money?"
"Yep!" she said brightly, tapping her bag.
"And your keys?"
Kitty waved her Mickey Mouse house keys in reply and returned them to the inside of her jacket. "I'm going to work extra hard today. Sam said we would have a lighting workshop and I might put my name down for it!"
"Huh, that sounds interesting-" her father began, but he faltered, his prosthetic seeming to catch on something while moving towards her, and almost causing him to fall to the ground. Kitty rushed forward just in time and caught him before his knee grazed. "Dad are you okay?!"
"I'm fine sweetie, I'm fine," he grunted. Kitty looked down to view the culprit; a loose floorboard. "I'll get the tools out when I get home and fix that."
"No, No need, I just need to be more careful. Just a little jittery at the moment."
"Did you do your exercises today like the doctor said?"
"I'll go sit down and do them now, don't worry. You head off now, you don't wanna be late." He turned to go but paused to look at her as she opened the door.
"Do you want me to get anything while I'm out?" She called back, but noticed him staring, "Dad?"
"Sorry," he said, snapping himself out of it, "it's just...when you stand there with your coat and your bag...you look so much like your mother." Kitty gave a warm smile and ran back where he caught her in a tight embrace. "Love you Dad."
"Love you too Sweetheart," he replied, kissing her on the forehead and gripping her gently by the shoulders, "Now off you go, don't worry about me. Just go and do your best!"
Kitty gave her father one last hug, snatched her bag from the floor and stepped out into the glorious sunshine. She mounted her city bike and stuffed her bag in its basket, setting off through her suburb for the boulevard.
Ever since she could remember, Kitty Hawkins had wanted to work with toons. While the turning point for them came when the colour TV entered the American family home and with successful Hollywood directors joining forces with humbler studios, hers had come when a acceptance letter to the Huckleberry Institute dropped through the mailbox one Saturday afternoon. She had excitedly raced through to the living room her hands shaking as she read it to her father. Huckleberry was one of the most prestigious animation schools in the region, and had been Kitty's first choice to master her craft.
When she was a little girl, her mother had taken her to see her very first Disney film: Bedknobs and Broomsticks. It had started out simply enough: three English children sent to live with an old woman during the war - but had quickly escalated into a tale of witchcraft, wonder and fighting off Nazis. From the moment she sat in that darkened theatre, the projector flickering quietly behind her and watched as David Tomlinson and Angela Lansbury danced in an electrifying animated world of musical fish, and challenged a proud king lion to a zoological game of soccer, Kitty had been spellbound.
She remembered her mother noticing her fascination with the toons, and for her seventh birthday bought her her very own easel and ink set so she could practice drawing her own. She became an avid member of the Mickey Mouse Club. She sent countless fan letters to Bugs Bunny and even got a reply once: a signed photograph of the famed rabbit star holding his signature carrot and a message which read:
"Dear Kitty. I hear you like my pictures and wanna make your own. Wishin' you the best of luck Doc!"
She had been ecstatic, practically begging her mother to frame it for her. She knew now that it had probably hadn't been from him, just one of his PR people, but she kept the photograph all the same.
As she cycled down the boulevard, stopping for a red light, she gazed briefly at the entrance to the pier, still under restoration from last year's ferocious winter storm. The workers were already up early, turning the keys in the doors of the amusement centres, and greeting the children who had been waiting with hands itching to play the arcades, their eager faces pressed up against the glass and fogging the windows. The ferris wheel rocked in the soft summer breeze, overshadowed by the looming shape of the rusted rollercoaster. The sickly sweet smell of cotton candy wafted over the street, bringing back memories of the fairground for Kitty, when her mother had taken her on the carousel.
She even remembered her horse's name: Atlantic Jack. They had spent hours on that carousel, watching the world whirl by. The day Kitty learned the news, she had taken off on her bike, frantically searched for by her father, aunt and uncle. They had found her weeping under the pier, the sea water lapping at her ankles.
The carousel had since been replaced with a Zoltar machine. Ironic, Kitty had always thought, that she couldn't just wish for it all back.
The light flashed green and she turned a corner, heading north towards the Institute. The large, whitewashed Spanish revival building came into view. It was surrounded by a black steel fence, and concealed by acres of sycamores and tropical palms. The parking lot was already beginning to fill with tired looking students and even rougher looking professors.
Kitty recognised her teacher Sam's blue plymouth draw up in one the staff parking spaces and hoped he would be in a good enough mood to let her stay after class for the workshop. As she chained her bike to the rack, she noticed a group of students from her class out of the corner of her vision, laughing. She scowled, and pretended not to notice them. She knew the laughs probably weren't directed at her, but one could not be too careful in a competitive field. Collecting her duffel bag, she hurried upstairs to the studio on the second floor.
"Alright, everybody quiet down and take your seats."
The loud clamour of the classroom dulled to a low chatter as Sam entered, straightening his light blue collar. The large spacious studio held thirty desks, each with its own pencil pot and rice paper -Huckleberry prided itself on letting its students create whenever they felt a touch of the muse, leading to several pieces of art hanging from pegs on a line of string at the back of the room, ranging from a simple sketch to a full illustration. Sam unpacked his briefcase and began writing on the chalkboard. "Today we are going to be learning about Xerography. Does anyone know what that might be? Yes, Kevin?"
"Is it like, something to do with X-Ray machines?"
"You're in the ballpark. Xerography is the process of taking an animator's drawing and transferring it onto a cel using a Xerox machine, which is as you say, similar to an X-Ray machine, but mostly comparable to a photocopier, first pioneered by the inventor Chester Carlson in 1942. Has anyone here seen 101 Dalmatians?" Half of the room put their hands up. "Good, most of you. Well, at the time Disney was playing around with new technology on the movie Sleeping Beauty - however, it was an overly ambitious project, costing the animators far too much money. Princess Aurora herself recalls being tired on set all the time because of all the directors asked of her-"
Kitty was trying to listen, she really was - but the uncomfortable twist which had formed in her stomach was making any kind of concentration incredibly difficult. Sam went under his desk and brought out a large object covered by a blanket.
"I actually have a prototype right here, obviously the industry ones are bigger. The old ones used to take up three rooms," he explained unveiling the printer-like contraption to impressed yet confused students.
"What you do see, is take the sheet of paper," he demonstrated pulling out a sketch, "with the drawing on it, and then a lens copies it and scans it onto an electrical-charged plate with a chemical toner. The charge directly transfers the image onto the cel, thus fusing them together. Which is good news for you guys, because it means you won't be tasked with the chore of hand inking everything you draw."
There was a mixture of interested murmurs and a few relieved sighs. From the back of the room, a stray hand shot up.
"Yes, Katherine?"
Kitty could feel every pair of eyes in the room turn her way. She tried to hide behind a strand of fluffy hair.
"Soooo...what about, inkers?"
"Beg your pardon?"
"Inkers, the people who, paint the lines."
The quiet which followed felt like an eternity until she finally got her answer. "Well, inking everything by hand isn't used much anymore, it's a laborious task for a human to take. That's why, the Xerox machine saves us the energy." She raised her hand again, "Yes Katherine?"
"But, what if someone really wanted to ink and animate, without using the-"
"The Xerox?"
"Yeah, that."
"Well, one could hypothetically, but it would mean going back to the days of Snow White with thousands of animation cels being inked by hand under a harsh light." He brought the Xerox further into view, anxious to get on with the lesson, forcing a smile as he saw Kitty's hand grace the air again. The class were less subtle about their displeasure. "Katherine?"
"But that's the point. You wouldn't need to do it by yourself, you would have a crew of others to paint with you."
"Good luck finding that many people to waste their time," a young man named Brandon said. Kitty said nothing, but offered a quick glare. She hated him, he was one of the students who thought their arrogance would propel him to success, and so far it unfortunately seemed to be working as Sam sent him on all the exciting excursions while she was condemned to a windowless studio.
"Katherine, if you have a problem with Xerox, that's fine but don't shoot the messenger. You'll have to take it up with Chester Carlson," Sam replied, earning a laugh from the class. "Now, we would obviously have to go to the dark room to complete the real process, but as you can see from one created by some of our other students," Sam continued, holding up the same image again on a seperate piece of paper, "the final work leaves neat black lines around the mouse's ears and helps us to further bring him into the real world."
"That's so cool!" exclaimed Kevin, "Will we actually get to create a toon?"
"Well, that's for the more advanced students, we don't want an array of cartoon characters wandering the grounds now do we?"
"But, why not? That'd be so awesome!" chimed in a girl at the front.
"It might seem that way Stephanie, but most of them bring their Toon Physics with them into our world, so for health and safety reasons we can't allow it."
"Yeah, but what if you're careful enough, can't you just make it so that they're always at your side? Like, if I made say, a bear, could I not have that toon bear in my backpack or something?"
"Well, that's an honourable offer Steph, but a major reason we don't allow the first years to make their own toons right away is because in previous years, students would make all kinds of toon animals and objects, and then get bored of them once they were done being entertained. We had several toon clothes found in the trash outside. Believe me guys, you don't want to have a bunch of ownerless toons walking about."
"Ownerless toons?"
All eyes once again turned to Kitty as she sat bolt upright in her chair. She tried to ignore the groans she was met with.
"All toons have owners Katherine," Sam explained calmly.
"Wait, they do?" asked Steph, "I thought that ended in the fifties or something."
"Technically no. Toons may be free to make their own decisions but ultimately they are trademarked by their creators and the companies who take them on."
"But, that's so unfair!" Kitty protested rising to her feet. "Haven't the animators done their bit drawing them? Can't they just let go?"
"I have a better idea," said Brandon angrily turning around, "Why don't you let it go?"
A chorus of voices followed: "Yeah, sit down!"
"Okay, settle down class, she's entitled to her opinion."
"Sam, don't you think it's creepy that any talking, thinking, sentient being should be owned? Doesn't that remind you of something? I mean it's not as if anything's changed, the Maroon studios haven't paid their workers a decent wage since they first opened... "
"Here she goes…" Brandon muttered.
"Katherine, I'm going to have to ask you to stop now, you're disrupting the lesson."
"But-"
Kitty's cheeks flushed and she slowly lowered herself back down. She didn't raise her hand for the rest of the period.
Throughout the day, the students busied themselves about their projects. Most of the first year class were assigned to the the dark room to test the new Xerox machine. A group of the male students lined up to copy their concept art, while the female students waited outside, including Kitty. A tall girl with a sideways ponytail noticed she wasn't carrying her folder.
"Aren't you going to copy your cels?"
"No."
"You're going to get in trouble," her friend said.
"I know."
The girls shrugged and closed their lockers. As Kitty stuffed her books into hers, she dropped a small scrap of paper. She bent to pick it up, but a polished black boot beat her to it. She looked up and saw a pale-faced gentleman staring down at her. His veins stood out in his wrinkled face, accentuated by the dark circles under his eyes. He dressed more professional than most of the other teachers she had seen, in a velvet overcoat and black tie. His oily hair was slicked back over his head, but doing nothing to hide his receding hairline. The only thing that singled him out from being pristeen were a pair of cloth gloves.
"Lose something?" he asked icily.
Kitty opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by Sam.
"Aah Katherine, I see you've met Professor Blanch. He's our new Head of Tech."
One of the cloth hands reached out for Kitty's, which she took hesitantly. "Mr Swanson here tells me you're interested in inking."
"Yes Sir. My mother was an inker for Maroon."
"Is that so? I used to work for Maroon back in the day - art director. Didn't stay for long." In his other hand he held her scrap paper to the light, checking it as if it were a counterfeit dollar bill. He unrumpled it fully; "Roger Rabbit?"
"Yes. I was practicing drawing him."
Blanch let out a small "hmm" and handed it back to her. "A brave thing to be, in this day and age. Not many are willing to revert to such conventional methods." He fixed her with a hard stare and grinned.
Kitty managed to force a smile back.
"Do you have that disk I asked for?" Blanch asked Sam.
"Oh!" Sam searched his inner jacket pocket and brought out a large floppy disc, "Here we are, I'm not very good with these things I'll admit, but I managed to clear it for you."
"Thank you. Which room?"
"Uh, the one straight down and on your left. See you Katherine!"
Before he turned to leave Blanch stared directly at Kitty. "Well Miss Hawkins, I hope to work with you soon. We are always in need of new people in the tech department. Just know that my door is always open." He waved and strolled down the corridor, his velvet coattails swishing behind him.
Kitty stood for a moment, perplexed. How could a man so formal want to shut himself up the computer lab...and why did he think she would be interested? Whatever reason, he scared the living daylights out of her. She closed her locker. As soon as it shut, she heard a gaggle of laughter. Brandon was standing in front of her, surrounded by a few of her classmates. Some were hanging their head, refusing to meet her gaze, while others laughed at her oblivity. Kitty just looked back confused.
"What's it say Kitty?" Brandon smirked, twirling a marker.
She spun around. Scrawled in a firm jet black across her locker was the phrase:
THINKERS NOT INKERS.
The sound of her classmates' laughter became nothing but ringing in her ears as the message scorched itself into her brain. The uncomfortable knot in her stomach worked itself into her throat until she felt she was going to choke. Her eyes stung and her face burned.
The last thing Brandon saw before he fell to the floor was a flash of messy hair and bony white knuckles.
"Katherine, you realize how serious this is?"
Kitty sat slumped in a chair in her classroom, biting her nails and refusing to look at her stressed professor. Sam dragged a hand down his face and sighed. "Look, I understand that he got to you, but don't you know there are repercussions for on campus assaults?"
"I...It wasn't my fault!"
"He didn't punch himself in the face."
"I mean, yes I hit him, but didn't you see what he wrote?"
"And I can assure you he will be punished. But you'll have to be too. You're a bright girl, this isn't like you and this isn't high school anymore. You can't pitch a fit if something doesn't go your way."
Pitch a fit?! she thought incredulously. Had he not seen the message? He knew how much it hurt her to have her mother's profession, livelihood, slandered like that.
"Now I'm going to give you a three day suspension notice. When you come back, I want to see that you've bucked up your ideas a bit." He tore off a slip of paper and handed it to her. Kitty almost snatched it from him as she picked up her bag and marched out. The prototype Xerox machine sat dejectedly by the door. She gave it a hard kick for good measure as she passed.
The heat of the midday sun was the only consolation as Kitty trudged through the Huckleberry parking lot. It took all of her strength to keep from crying, the knot in her gut becoming tighter and tighter. All at once she felt feverish, furious and suffocated, as if someone had stuffed a raw chilli pepper down her throat, her eyes threatening to water. It was only just beginning to dawn on her what she had done.
Her father had paid thousands for her to go to that school! How was it going to look when she stayed home tomorrow morning? She cursed herself for being so stupid - eighteen years old and suspended from one of the best colleges in the region.
She unlocked her bike from the rack and mounted it, her messy black hair flowing softly behind her. There was no hiding her tears now. She wiped her eyes with the back of sleeve all the while muttering obscenities under her breath. As she reached the light, a bus drew up beside her, with a large ad for the Maroon Studios tour across its doors.
"Hey!"
She blinked as the driver addressed her.
"You okay kid?"
"Yeah, yeah, just rough day is all…" she noticed the ad and scowled, flashing a quick obscene gesture and accidentally having it caught by an old lady. The lights changed to green so she didn't have time to apologise.
She stopped when she reached the boulevard. At this point in the day it was crowded with people, all carrying oversized stuffed animal prizes, jumbo hot dogs and slush puppies. The arcades were bustling with kids and teenagers and elated screams could be heard from the rides.
Kitty checked her watch; her Dad would be suspicious if she arrived home early. While the pier was still too precarious to stroll on, a quick tour of the amusements might lighten her sullen mood. She checked her pockets: definitely enough quarters for a video game or two.
She sipped on a raspberry slushie as she headed for the nearest amusement centre, deciding on PacMan or Tetris.
"Sure ya don't wanna play Ms PacMan?" the owner had asked her at the door.
"What's she got that PacMan doesn't? A bow?" she retorted.
Even a place of fun couldn't lift her spirits. She had been defeated and the stupid game had eaten her money. Sulkily she had left the centre and pushed her bike along a corner towards the battered pier. Perhaps Brandon had been right - the world needed thinkers, not inkers, and now that she had blown her chances of getting in Sam's good books for the rest of the year, she was neither. She sighed and tossed her slushie into the nearest trash.
"Ouch!"
"Sorry-! Wait-"
Kitty faltered for a moment. Did that trashcan just...talk back? She looked around to make sure no one could hear her.
"Is someone there?"
"Sure! I'm in here!" a lisping voice echoed back.
Kitty shook her head in confusion. "Do you um...need some help?"
"That'd be swell, it sure does reek in here!"
Cautiously, Kitty reached a hand through the gap in the trashcan. Whatever kind of prank this was, it was certainly an odd choice of hiding place. She delved further trying to ignore the slimy pieces of leftovers and the stench of rotten garbage. Finally, she grabbed ahold of what she was certain was the recipient's arm and pulled - as she strained to get them out, her eyes opened wide in surprised as she realized what she had ahold of was a pair of floppy white ears - toon ears.
With one final tug, she managed to free the ears from their squalid prison. The force as they shot from the slot caused her to stumble backwards onto her rump. Dazed, she looked up, baffled at who she had rescued.
It was a toon rabbit.
A very familiar toon rabbit.
