Chapter 2: A Crash Course in Looney Lane

"It turned out; my birthday was the day they actually found me." Roger shot a glance to their family picture. "There was nothing in the basket that indicated any clues about my parents –just non-toon blankets."

He looked away. "Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me."

Jessica stared at her friend but his gaze was transfixed somewhere on the coffee table.

"I should have known I'm too different. Instead, I just thought I got a bunch of gen'tic defects. In fact, I should have paid more attention to the people muttering about me." He paused, before continuing.

"Ma and Pa didn't seem to care how, so I didn't too," Roger said, hugging his knees. He pointedly didn't look at Jessica, his ears deflating at the sides of his head. Why did he doubt his sanity then get defensive of himself? There really was something wrong with him.

Jessica put a hand on his shoulder.

"It can be overwhelming, seeing what you see as normal for a long time, wasn't actually normal," she said quietly, remembering a shadier world in the business of animation.

Roger shrugged and smiled, capping back his optimism. He willed his ears up again. "It was shocking for me but given time, any person would get used to anything!"

He heaved the photo album on his lap. Jessica realized that it was more like a scrapbook than a photo album.

He opened them to the first page.

"Oh," Jessica said, her eyes widening with recognition.

Roger nodded. "Yeah, they're the first friends I made in Toontown."

"How did you meet them?"

The rabbit traced the edges of the photo with a reminiscing laugh. "They almost ran into me."

XOXOXOXOXOXO

After traveling by third-class train carriages, the night service tramcars were more comfortable. He was again pointed to the Colored's section. Since not a lot of people travel late; at least he didn't have to give his seat to a white man. Roger rubbed his eyes. He couldn't sleep well in both train and tram. He got too paranoid with the stares he was accumulating. Weren't toons supposed to be common near Hollywood or something?

He got off the tram near the Acme Factory. According to the map on Pa's magazine, Toontown was near it.

Now what?

One of the gates of Acme Factory opened. Rabbit ears perked up underneath his hat at the sight of a truck unlike any other truck he had seen (and he had seen a lot, growing up in the farm).

"Acme Toon Truck," he read aloud to himself as it slowly began to stir to the left. Without further ado, Roger ran after it.

He's not a sprinter but he knew he's faster than most people. He pumped his feet, his breath quickening.

With a bound, his hand snatched the truck's cold door handle.

"WHOO-HOO!" he exclaimed before slapping a hand on his mouth. He shifted his feet on the small step and hoped the driver won't get suspicious.

He studied what he could of the truck he was hitchhiking on. It felt cool, like metal. But its body doesn't gleam like one in the moonlight. In fact, it looked dull. Was this made from toon metal? Was there even such a thing?

He looked up to the stars. Too bad he can't see where they're going.

Roger gasped when everything went dark. A tunnel. They're crossing a tunnel. At least he thought so.

Then as suddenly as it went dark, everything was light again. Roger's eyes bugged.

"Whoa," he whispered.

As far as the eye can see, it was plains and valleys everywhere. Trees and flowers droop together, sleeping. The animals curled under rocks and trees were still. Everything breathed in and out rhythmically in symphony, a rhythm of snores whispering faint in the air.

Roger watched as he saw a teaspoon laughed at the cow jumping over the moon.

"Jeepers…"

His entire vision was suddenly replaced with buildings, billboards and more buildings. Roger looked around. They must be in the heart of the town.

The truck passed by a lane and Roger hopped off. He stretched his arms, looking at his surroundings. He froze before slapping a hand on his forehead. He should have hopped off at the busiest section of the town. That way, he could ask for available places to stay overnight.

He shrugged, deciding it was no big deal. All he had to do is follow the sidewalk where the roads run the busiest and hopefully avoid getting mugged or getting hit by a-

Beep! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPP!

Roger's eyes widen and he froze at the incoming blast of light. He leapt! Metal grazed the fabric of his pants.

"Oomph!"

His shoulder crashed unto the pavement and he rolled away to safety, the alkaline taste of dirt spreading into his mouth.

CRASH!

He lay there, heaving. Roger tried to calm his heart from leaping out of his mouth with the contents of his empty stomach following. He forced his rapid, shallow breathing to slow down, willing his chest to expand slowly and evenly. When he was sure his body wasn't going to do what it was threatening to do, he raised his head to spit out the rubble on his mouth, rubbing his tongue on the sleeve of his coat.

As the ringing of his ears slowly succumbed, he could hear a car door creak and several voices.

"Sufferin' Succotash! I knew we shouldn't have let you drive!" The speaker's voice was nearly spitting out the "S".

"Like you could do it better? Two words, Sthylvether," another replied. "Tweeeeeting birdSTH!," he spat. Roger can practically imagine the huge glop of spit that came out with the latter word.

The shock of near-death experience began to wear off, leaving Roger with only the slightest irritation. He almost didn't last three minutes in Toontown because of them.

"Oh yeah? You're desthhhpicable!" the other one shot back. "Right, Wile?"

"That's my line!"

"HEY!"

The owners of the voices whipped their heads around to see a bundle of human clothes stumbling up to stand. Roger's cap lay askew over his eyes and he angrily yanked it off, bunny ears springing into freedom. He savagely jerked off his scarf, revealing a very livid face.

"Are you all loonies?! I could have been killed!"

Now that Roger can see them, he realized what they look like. One looked like a black duck, another one is a black-and-white cat with a red nose and the last one… he was most certain was a coyote. The smoking car, or what was left of it, was crunched against the crumbling wall –where he had just been passing by.

Silence stretched between him and the strangers.

Then the trio collapsed into fits of reckless laughter.

Or rather, the duck started pounding the floor in cachinnation while the cat writhed on the ground, clutching his stomach. The coyote only gave a small sardonic smile and shook his head.

Roger stared at them in disbelief. They're crazier than he thought.

The duck sat up long enough to talk. "You sounded so serious, I thought you weren't joking! WHOO-HOO-HOO! HAHA!" He gasped before falling on the floor again in hysterical laughter.

They are crazier than he thought.

Moral outrage dissipating, he simply turned his back on them and walked away. He had more important matters to attend to.

A blur zips in front of him and Roger halted in surprise. The duck leaned on him with one arm thrown across his shoulders.

"Ssstthhaaaay, Pedro!" the duck said, leaning so close, he tipped down his bill so that their faces are almost touching. "What's up with these," he plucked the sleeve of Roger's coat with his fingers (or were they feathers?), "Tweedsssth?"

Roger stepped back from the sudden intrusion of his personal space. "What about it?" he asked, distracted. For the first time, he realized that these people weren't wearing any clothes.

Yet, the duck fluidly step in time of his backing away. Roger stepped back and pretty soon, they look like they were doing an uncomfortable version of Tango.

"You look like a human dressed you. What's the matter, Jeeves?" His tone jerked into fast and aggressive and he started poking him at the chest. "Your artist is too cheap to draw you clothes or something?! Huh? Huh?! HUH?! "

Roger finally sidestepped away from him. Daffy splatted down on the ground.

"I gotta go," Roger quickly mumbled, slinging his pack closer to him. Rule number 33, Pa said, stay away from crazy people.

Then he stopped as though debating with himself before turning around to ask.

"Do any of you know a place to stay?"

The three looked at each other, each mirroring each other's confusion.

The coyote raised a brow at the two, the duck shook his head at them and the cat shrugged.

The coyote opened his hands at them and the duck shook his head with more vigor. They both looked at the cat who pointed at himself questioning disbelief.

The duck folded his arms, the coyote tilted his head and the cat threw up his mitts exasperatedly.

Roger looked at them strangely; it was like wordless conversation using only their tics.

"You're obviously new in here," the cat finally said. "How about thisth? For almost running you over, we buy you a drink?"

The cat must have seen the hesitation in his eyes so he mustered his most amiable smile.

"Don't you want to ask us locals about Toontown?"

The duck quietly slipped on his loony grin over his smirk; the rabbit obviously didn't know who they are.

XOXOXOXOXOXOX

Roger sat uncomfortably on his chair. He heard about bars but he never knew one was open this late. His fingers play with his glass of lemonade.

The cat, who introduced himself as Sylvester, was doing the same with his rootbeer, glaring at both the coyote and the duck.

The coyote, who was said to be Wile, paid him no mind and calmly sipped his tomato juice.

The duck, who shook Roger's hand so vigorously that it wobbled long after the handshake was done, said his name was Daffy. Daffy sat on his chair teetering dangerously on its hind legs. With his head tilted back and his orange feet on the table; he spurted his soda like a fountain.

Roger wondered why they just left their car like that but he saw the duck put a card on the windshield –wherever he was keeping it.

"Stho," Sylvester said, shifting his shoulders with his tongue sticking out. He obviously was not used to leading a conversation. "Who made ya?"

Roger looked at him, baffled. What on earth was he talking about? Religion?

"It's kinda hard to tell but it's obviously not the big guys or you wouldn't be walking around with those duds," he continued, waving his mitt on Roger's clothes.

"But other toons wear clothes," Roger said, remembering the pictures he had seen with his Pa.

One of the cat's ears twitched. "Why do you talk so quietly?"

Roger hunched his shoulders, uncomfortably looking down at his lemonade. He sipped before speaking. "Becauthe."

"A listhp too, huh?" Sylvester made a raspberry, waving his mitt. "Puh-leeasthe, Daffy and I had been listhping our whole lives!" He put his hands on his hips. "What are you ashamed about, anyway? Sthally sthells stheashells on the stheashore!" he declared.

Roger politely dodged the fleet of flying spit. The cat leaned forward by his elbow on the table.

"Now back to what you've said. Toons wear toon clothes," Sylevster explained patiently as though he's talking to a child. "Human clothes don't survive being ripped, smashed and exploded."

Pa once explained to Roger about culture shock. It sounded like the residents of Toontown suffer from grave dangers. But the cat with the red nose sipped his rootbeer as though he just talked about getting up this morning.

Roger looked down on his clothes. His clothes look normal. He looked around at the other patrons. Some were wearing clothes but… they look different. Was it the fabric?

"How old are you, anyway?"

Roger's brows furrow deeper. He thought it was rude to ask someone's age since a lot of people were bothered by it. At least, that's how it was in his town.

"A day? Three days? They're supposed to be responsible in making arrangements for you. Why did they transfer you here this late?" Sylvester asked, suddenly producing a nail file.

Roger's ear cocked at the sight of the gadget. Where was he keeping that? He cleared his throat, deciding to answer the question he knew the answer of.

"I'm eighteen."

"Eighteen hours? Eighteen days? That's a very long time before you got transferred," Sylvester said, filing his nails.

"I'm eighteen years old," he said, his face brazen with frank confusion.

Daffy suddenly choked in the middle of gurgling "Carolina in the Morning", splattering them all with spit and soda. Wile's jaw dropped on the table in a horrifying proportion that Roger stared at it, fascinated. A yowl of pain cut through the air and Sylvester was holding his paw with claws abruptly reduced to stubs.

"YOU'RE WHAT?!" Sylvester hollered, rising on his chair and spraying spit everywhere. Roger sank low on his chair, ducking from his body fluids. It looked like he answered the question wrong.

"I'm eighteen; I grew up in Kansasth with my Ma and Pa-"

"IN KANSASTH?! WITH YOUR-" Wile grabbed Sylvester by the muzzle so that his lower face was fisted like rubber, making his red nose bulge.

Roger's eyes widened at the sight of his facial contortion.

The coyote yanked him down and gave him a look. That seemed to calm Sylvester down and Wile let go. They both looked around but the other barflies were either passed out or too sullen to care.

"Jeepers! Are you two okay?" Roger asked with concern. "You looked like you dislocated your jaw for a moment," he said, catching the coyote's eye. "And your face," he winced, looking at the cat whose face had snapped back to normal, "That looked like it hurts."

Confused silence was their only response.

Roger tilted his head to one side and the trio subconsciously mirrored him. They looked at the rabbit's human clothes. They looked at the honest, young face; the eyes holding a gleam of naivety yet untouched by the world. A boy from a small town –in a body of a rabbit.

Finally, Sylvester spoke out, his voice slow with dawning realization.

"You don't know how to toon? Do you?"

Before Roger can ask what he meant by that, Daffy's peppy voice cut through the air.

"Hey buddy! Aren't ya goin' to finish yer drink? Geez! So wastheful!"

Roger looked at the duck, who was casually inspecting his fingernails (or were they feathertips?) as though he hadn't spoken. He grabbed his glass and tossed the contents inside his mouth in one gulp.

Roger dropped the glass as his whole body started to quiver.

What's happening?

His head started to buzz, the room swirled and blurred. It suddenly felt hot. His whole body burned with fire in a summer field. Numbly, he can hear himself making spastic sounds.

Sylvester, Wile and Daffy stared with awe as his eyes turned into rainbow swirls and his white fur purpled, then greened and suddenly turned a bright shade of red like a pitcher being filled with neon red juice. The rabbit began to quake, his cheeks ballooned and they all backed away from the table.

Everyone ducked, covering their ears as the rabbit shoot up to the ceiling, screeching a song of a steam-powered engine. Fliers and tissues whirled around the bar with Roger as the eye of the storm, steam pouring out of his mouth and ears. Bottles shattered on the shelves, shot glasses exploded into shards and windowpanes cracked and burst into smithereens as the high pitched whistle achieved frequencies no human could bear.

In the midst of it all, Daffy calmly stood there and watched; his feathers ruffling against the wind. Grim eyes surveyed the rabbit's effect.

Never had he seen anyone with such raw tooniness.

Suddenly, it ended abruptly as it happened. Roger crashed unceremoniously back to his chair, his face high-fiving the table with a bang.

A pulse of silence after a storm. Sylvester and Wile slowly stood up and joined Daffy. The duck was still looking at Roger as though he's a specimen for a scientific experiment.

"Did you just sthpike his drink?" Sylvester whispered.

Roger groaned; feeling like a sledgehammer was wedged into his skull. He can hear their voices. If only the room would stop spinning.

Daffy put one hand on his chin. "He can toon," he decided.

In a flash, Roger found himself high up in the air, effortlessly lifted by Daffy over his head.

"Hey! What are you-"

CRASH!

Daffy didn't drop him. He slammed him flat against the floor. The trio watched for any reaction but Roger lay unmoving and crumpled.

The duck continued to objectively observe him as though he had just prodded him with a stick.

"But he doesn't know how."

The rabbit finally lifted himself up feeling anything but happy. His eyes were stinging from pain. His body ached and his head felt hammered.

These people were officially crazy and abusive.

"You know what? I'll manage, thank you," he said irritably, grabbing his pack and trying not to hobble out of the bar.

"Wait! Roger!"

Roger did not wait. He briskly walked, trying to put as much distance between him and them. The cross road was empty and he walked across.

Big mistake.

The roads were suddenly filled with zooming trucks and cars in every direction. Roger stood stock still, his head whipping at every blur that passed him.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPP!

Roger tumbled to the side, a humungous tire seconds from where he stood. A car screeched at him, making his ears curdle and he rolled to the other side. His head spun as his sensitive ears quivered and curled against the beeping, the honking and the blasting of horns.

The trio watched in horror as he fumbled through the road.

Sylvester grabbed Daffy by the feathers on his collarbone. "He's going to literally die and go to toon heaven unless we do something!"

Roger stumbled through the speeding hazes and smoke. He's going to die in here, if not land in a hospital with insurmountable pain.

I'm sorry, Ma and P-

"Oof!"

Something had hit him. Roger shut his eyes, certain he at least been granted a painless death. He waited. And waited. When nothing happened, his cracked one eye open.

Black feathers and a jaded face welcomed his vision. Roger gaped at him. He then realized that he was back in the sidewalk in Daffy's arms, being carried as though he weighs nothing.

But it was the look on Daffy's eyes that caught his attention. No longer are they manic or goofy. Instead, they were shrewd. They were calculating. His dark irises reflected Roger's shock expression.

"How did you –oof!"

Daffy tossed him back to the ground. Roger sat stock still, his heart still thumping fast from his second brush with death. These people were rubbery, freakishly fast and cuckoo. What would become of him if every toon were like them?

The duck spoke, his voice calm as though he had been acting sane the whole time. "If you're going to stay in Toontown, you'll need to know how to toon."

The sun began to rose behind him; casting him, Sylvester and Wile with glows and tall shadows.

"Come with usth," he continued.

Roger dusted himself off. "No."

The duck raised a brow. So much for the dramatic sunrise scenery. This guy obviously didn't know who they were, where he was and what they were capable of.

What himself was capable of.

The rabbit shifted his pack before glaring at him. "You almost clipped me with your car, you sthpiked my drink with whatever you put in it-"

"Giggle water," was the offhand reply.

"-alcohol doesn't do that to anybody! And you splat me on the floor for no reason at all!" Roger stopped, took a deep breath like Ma would do when her patience was running thin.

"I don't know how you sthaved my life but thank you but no thank you." He turned his back on the duck, ready to get away from them all. Only a loony would follow them-

"My apologies," a new voice said. Roger whipped his head around. The voice sounded smooth and deep. Surprise halted his exit when he realized that it was coming from the coyote.

"We did not mean to cause you so much distress. However, not all of us are like our friend here. May you listen first for what I have to say?"

Roger stared at him, stunned. He sounded like a book and a posh restaurant rolled into one. However, the coyote stood with elegant self-assurance despite the scruffy brown coat. Cunning, yellow eyes smiled at him as he held out his hand to Roger.

"Wile E. Coyote –super genius. You are looking for a place to stay, are you not?"

Roger looked at him in confusion. He casted a furtive glance at Daffy whose face was unreadable. There is a saying about birds of the same feather.

Wile saw his brows furrowed, his hand clutched the strap of his pack tighter as he opened his mouth to speak.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Author's Notes:

Here are the timelines of the new characters when they first appeared on screen:

Daffy Duck: 1937

Sylvester the Cat: 1945

Wile E. Coyote: 1949

Some of you may argue that Wile doesn't exist yet in 1945. But understand this; they made their film debut in the above years mentioned. If toons do exist, they may have lived and developed before hitting the theaters.