Chapter 6: Do You Still Feel the Same Way, Roger?

"Roger, you look like shit," Herman calmly stated.

Said rabbit giggled as though he wasn't really all there. "I'm fine, I'm fine," Roger woozily said with a wave of his ears. His eyes were bloodshot. Purple bags adorn his zombified expression. His whiskers are wilted and even his ears don't seem to have the energy to stand upright.

Herman's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Roger's such a delicate pansy, he'd protest at one little "damn". Yet, his potty mouth just went through the rabbit's head.

Roger drunkenly stepped forward like toyboat in a langorous ocean. His mouth gaped like a cavern in a monstrous yawn.

"It's just that, Cheri needed someone to talked to."

Herman looked away. She's here already, huh? He savored his cup of coffee. "See, Roger? That's your problem. Women are like money."

"Huh?"

He waved his cherubic hand. "If you work for money your whole life, money will master you. Arrange them in stocks, merchandise or royalties, you then master money."

"Huh?"

Herman rolled his eyes. The idiot is a paragon when giving love and friendship like free candy. But talking to Roger is like throwing rocks against a wall. He gave him a pointed look, poking Roger at his pink nose with each word. "Don't. Be. A. Slave. To. Mone- Hey!"

Poppins had suddenly appeared, yanking away his nice mug of coffee. She pointed him into the set's pantry room.

"There's a newer mug of coffee waiting for you there. Out."

Herman glared at her. Why did he hired this belligerent young woman again?

"3 spoons of cream, no sugar with a shot of Scotch. Just the way you like it," Poppins continued. She then frowned, she never approved of alcohol.

The nanny watched her grumbling little employer walked away. She then gave the mug to Roger.

"Sit," she ordered. Roger was nothing but obedient.

She sighed, composing herself as Roger settled in a chair. "Roger, can I tell you a story?"

Roger beamed, bringing a little bit of brightness in his sleep-deprived, dull fur. "Sure!"

Poppins snapped her fingers, a chair sliding in the nick of time as soon as she lowered herself.

"Once upon a time, there was a flower."

Roger wiggled a bit. "I love stories," he said for no reason.

"Like most flowers, she's colorful and bright. So beautiful that people would always take a second glance and bees would hover around her."

"Uh-huh."

"But this flower is in love with a sun lamp."

Roger laughed.

Poppins serious eyes remained on him. "This flower spends most of her time with the sun lamp. She rejoices at his light but... day after day, her petals began to wilt."

"Because it's not the real thing," Roger remarked.

The nanny nodded. "Right. So the flower left and went outside to find sunlight. And the sun… he loves that flower. At just one glance, he knew she's something special and gave her light until her petals unfurled. Her stem straightened strong and proud. Her colors brightened."

"I knew it!" Roger said.

"But after she got all the sunlight she needed, she went back inside the dark with the sunlamp."

"What? Why?"

"Because she's in love with the lamp," she stated factually. "The sun would miss her when she would leave. But he can't do anything about it."

Roger's expression became more baffled. "Huh?"

"And so that's what would happen. The flower would spend her time with the sun lamp trying to catch his light with her leaves. Until she would wilt. After that she would go back to the sun. The sun who would be so happy to see her, that he'd give his all. And when her needs are full, she would leave him again for the sun lamp."

The rabbit blinked, waiting for her to say more.

"The end," Poppins said.

"But the sunlamp couldn't give her what she needs," Roger said.

"What some suns and flowers want aren't really what they need."

"That's silly. Sunflowers face whatever direction the sun is because they know its good for them."

He felt a touch of concern at the flitting, not-so-smiling pull on Poppins' lips. His ears curled into question marks. "No happy ending?"

"Perception has no ending," Poppins replied. "Even in death."

Roger blinked, fiddling with his mug of coffee. "Okay… uh..." He hesitated at the grim falter of their conversation. Then he brightened. "Thanks for the sthunny story, Mary!"

Her eyes hardened sternly. "Stop being punny, Roger."

Roger laughed. If they were sitting side by side, he would have elbowed her arm.

"No, really," Mary insisted with a frown.

The rabbit downed his coffee in one gulp before hopping away. She watched him disappear, her mouth a straight line.

XOXOXOXOXO

Roger startled from his nap. There was someone knocking on his door. He tumbled on the floor before springing up.

"Coming!"

He opened his door. "Jessica!" he exclaimed. He glanced outside. "Jeepers! It's night already!" He glanced at her before looking at the calendar. "I didn't know it's Thursday today."

Jessica blinked. "I'm sorry. Did I come in a bad time?"

Roger shook his head, his ear accidentally swatting a fly. "No! It's just been a busy week. With the filming and Cheri wanting to go sthomewhere and Cheri wanting sthomeone to talk to last night and Cheri needing-"

Jessica frowned as Roger talked. How come it seems like Cheri is taking up a lot of his time? But then again, she's here in his trailer.

"-I didn't realize it's already our night-out! Uh… night-in?"

She shrugged her bare shoulders and followed him to his living room.

"I'm really am glad to see ya, Jessica! It's been a while since I saw you in the sthet!"

"Me too," she murmured as Roger zipped off to the kitchen. She sat on his couch as he returned with carrot cokes on each hand and his ears carrying his scrapbook.

"How wasth your week?" Roger asked.

She reached with one hand for her drink, the other for the scrapbook that his ears are giving her. "So-so," she replied. Modelling shoots, singing at nightclubs. Mr. Acme asked her out but she declined for Roger's tale.

He hopped beside her as she opened his scrapbook. Jessica felt her brows pull together momentarily at seeing the next photo of his story.

XOXOXOXOXO

Post-war 1945…

A woman screamed. Then there was a hiss of a swinging purse.

"OW! For the love of Warner, I'm not a wolf!"

Roger hanged back as Wile clambered up from another purse whack. He rubbed a monstrous goose egg that would give Roger a heart attack if he ever saw that on his Ma. Wiley strode irritably down the street.

In the midst of swaying lampposts, Roger gingerly tried to walk beside him. Easier to say when his body is screaming protests at his every move. Lead-heavy legs. Aching tummy muscles. Stinging shoulders. A stiff neck. They're screaming utter betrayal at the sudden loaded effort demanded on them this morning.

"This is a reason why I hate going out," Wile muttered before taking a deep inhale.

"Wolves couldn't be that bad," Roger said. He let his ears stretched themselves, the only ones he was pretty sure that doesn't hurt.

Wile stared at him and made a mental note to let him watch an MGM short. They really need to get Roger to ditch the human tweeds and get toon clothes. If he's going to be his lab assistant, he'd be running errands in the future. Roger doesn't need to stick out like a sore thumb and attract unwanted attention. Toon Patrol attention.

"We're here," he replied, stopping in front of a thrift shop.

Old black-and-white toon clothes. Loud colored outfits that sears the eyes. Patched fabrics with huge seams. Outrageous fashions that fall from classic to modern. All piled and hanged in a chaotic display inside the shop.

"Grab an outfit," Wile said, pushing Roger upfront.

"But Wiley, you really don't need-"

"You're my employee, Roger, and part of my investment. Go," he said, shooing Roger away.

He watched the rabbit hesitantly enter the jungle of clothes. If he's going to teach Roger how to toon, his body must be able to perform the stunts toons can perform.

Roger huffed, his head bobbing over a bar before disappearing. "W-wiley! Why are we doing this again?"

"Count, Rogger!"

"3!" his head disappeared under the bar again.

"Remember to count at the exhale!" Wiley coached.

"4!" he gasped, shaking as he appeared over the lever. "F-five..." he croaked.

"And time's up! 5 chin-ups in one minute," Wiley said, clicking a stopwatch in his hand.

Roger let go of the bar. He grunted as gravity shot him to the ground, spreading tremors through his body. He couldn't care less as he lay down on the wooden floor.

He wiped sweat from his eyes. His body felt hot. Sweat was sticking in his white fur that was already clumping from moisture. He was pretty sure his nose that is usually pink, is also red from exertion. Roger glanced at his friend who was taking notes in a clipboard.

First, Wiley had made him dash around the testing site. He didn't mind that. Then he had made him lift weights, adding more and more until he could barely lift it. Then push-ups. Then in a bicycle. Then squats. Then chin-ups.

"Why?" he gasped between lungfuls of air.

Wile suddenly startled, looking down at where he had collapsed.

"You see, Roger, we'll need to improve your body first. Have you heard of the Overload Principle?"

"Aah… no?"

"It's when you slightly add more load than what the body is used to. So if you can handle 20 pounds right now, we'll do 25. When you can do 25 with no sweat, we raise the bar again."

So far, his training consists of weightlifting and running and sets of exercises in the hope to prepare his body.

"Ta-dah!"

Roger appeared before him wearing a blue set of baggy overalls.

Wile cocked his head. Not very eye-catching but it will do.

"This reminds me of the times I work in our farm!" Roger exclaimed, pulling at his suspenders.

"Roger, what wrong behind you?" Wiley asked, walking around him with a scrutinizing stare.

"Huh?" He turned around. "Oh it does have a hole on the bottom but I can sthew it!"

The coyote shook his head. "No, Roger, that's for your tail."

One rabbit ear raised in exclamation. "Really?" He twisted around in circles, trying to fish his tail out of the ripped bottom hole. Then he stopped, put both hands behind him and began thrusting forward and backward, grunting.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Wiley could feel toons stopping to stare. No, he is not going in there, stand behind the rabbit and pull Roger's tail out of his pants. He coughed. "Just press the bottom of your suspenders against your backside, Roger."

Roger grabbed the fabric around his hips. With a grunt that wasn't exactly soothing for the ears, Roger's tail popped out of his pants hole.

"Roger?" Wile asked. For whatever reason, the rabbit was frozen at his thrust.

Cottontail swished at the still rabbit. Up. Down. Hesitantly up. Then down. Left and right. It circled clockwise. Then counterclockwise.

Roger then stumbled, catching himself before he fall flat on his face.

"I… feel so free," he said, looking at Wile as though he suddenly discovered a secret of the universe. He looked behind him, his backside still thrusted out. His fluffy tail waved at him like a happy puppy. Without thinking, he waved back.

Wiley good-naturedly rolled his eyes. "Oh, Roger."

Purchase paid, they walked out of the store with Roger's human clothes in a bag. Behind Wile who was too busy with his notepad, Roger practically strutted. His hips would sweep to the direction wherever his free little cottontail would swish. He grinned, basking at his little freedom. It felt so liberating! He had always worn his underwear a bit low in the back to let his tail breath. But he couldn't do the same for his pants. Had he been wearing his trousers wrong all this time? No wonder he always felt squished!

His head bobbed along with the rhythm of the swinging shops. Yet keeping a close eye at the traitorous roads. The memories of being in the midst of blaring horns and screeching tires were still fresh.

"Keep up, ol' chap. We got work to do," Wiley called out over his shoulder.

Roger hummed in agreement, feeling a bounce in his step. He happened to look at his right...

Then he saw her.

The air seemed to rush. The world around him was suddenly lost with blinding light, awash with angels singing arias in another reality.

Long ears fell over her shoulders and spilled down to her waist, fluttering behind her from an unseen wind.

From faraway, time became meaningless. Space lost their significance. The universe constricted into the ethereal creature before his eyes.

Her lashes batted as blue doe eyes blinked. Honey brown fur shimmered when slender calves peeked out from a modestly length coral skirt. Pink nose lifted into a serene inhale and her lips par-

Someone was waving a hand to his face.

"Hello? Earth to Roger?"

Roger startled and found Wile looking at him strangely.

"What on earth are you –oh" Yellow eyes widen in recognition as he followed Roger's line of sight.

"Why, if it's not my fellow colleague, Cheri."

Roger whipped his head towards him. "You know her?"

The coyote nodded. "Of course, Cheri's a researcher too. Let me introduce you," he said, grabbing Roger by the straps of his overalls with one hand.

Roger instinctively dragged his heels back. "I can't!" he squeaked.

Wile looked back at him, confused. "Why? It's not like I'm introducing you to the queen of England. It's just her." He effortlessly dragged him along.

Roger stared at her before his heart started doing the weird thumping again like it had grown rabbit feet on its own.

"Cheri!" Wile called out. The doe's head turned. "I'd like you to meet my research assistant-" he yanked his arm in front of him… and blinked when he realized he was only holding a pair of overalls.

He whipped around to see a barely-clad rabbit running away. "ROGER!"

XOXOXOXO

Back to the present...

"That's when you met her?" Jessica asked, staring at a glossy picture of the two rabbits.

"Yep," Roger said. He looked down, his hand scratching the back of his head. "She was right, ya know. It was my first time to see another rabbit. A girl rabbit."

Jessica tore her gaze away from him and back to the photo. Cheri exudes a calm, graceful confidence just by standing there. The younger Roger's shoulders were a bit stiff along with that discomfitted smile as though he couldn't believe he's standing right next to her.

XOXOXOXO

Post-war, 1945

Wile slammed the door open, irritation etched on his face.

"Do you have any idea how awkward it is to ask 'Excuse me, but have you seen a rabbit in human underwear ran by?''"

Roger grinned at him sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout tha-"

He was suddenly interrupted by his neatly folded overalls being pushed to his hands.

Wile walked past him, his spine ramrod in annoyance. "What was that about? Really?" he asked snootily.

Roger tugged the overalls off him. "I got shy, I guess."

"I thought you got lost. You have no idea how worried I was when I know you couldn't even handle crossing the streets," Wiley bit, his nose still in the air.

Rabbit ears drooped. "I'm sorry, Wiley."

The coyote sighed. "Never mind about that, meet me in the viewing room in ten minutes."

Roger sighed, getting the feeling that he let Wiley down. Ironically, not because he had been incompetent.

Sometime later, he was seated behind a desk in the Viewing Room. The film projector flickered and clacked.

Wile stood straight and scholarly. Besides the exercise regimens, he had also been exercising Roger's mind.

"Alright, Roger. What patterns have you observed in most of the Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies films?"

The rabbit fumbled with his notes. Wile had tried to ignore the state of his note taking. The scribbles were childish. The direction of his lines either goes up to Alaska or down to Antarctica. The order of his facts (Wile sighed) hurt his organizer's soul.

"Well… when sthomeone crashes into a wall, they don't bounce back. They make holes of their exact shapes."

"Correct. What else?"

"Uhm… toon people can jump higher than humans."

Wiley buffed his claws on his coat. "And why is that?"

Roger flipped through his notes, his eyes not seeing them. His mind was too busy rifling through his memories. Sylvester getting frightened by mice axe murderers. Porky trying to get away from Daffy. A short, hairy ginger cowboy getting startled by gunshots.

"Fear," the rabbit said, looking up his notes. '

"Correct. All laws of gravity can be negated by fright. Anything else from your observations?"

Roger's brows wrinkled. There was one that baffled him the most. "Paintings can be entered by anyone 'cept the painter himself."

"Sadly, that is a problem of art, not science," Wiley replied.

The rabbit paused, shuddering at another memory. A horde of hopping, whooping Daffys flashed inside his mind. "And Daffy… are there more Daffys out there?"

"I can barely stand one," Wiley answered back. "Rest assured, there's only one. The faster a toon is, the more possible that he can be at many places at once."

He looked at the rest of his notes. Cats being poured like liquid. Toons not blowing into bloody chunks at exploding dynamites. Roger looked up. "Wile… it's nice of you to let me watch your collection of cartoon shorts. But I don't think I can do any of this."

The coyote raised a brow. "Roger you had tooned before."

He pointed at himself. "I did?"

"Yes. Back in the bar when Daffy gave you alcohol."

Roger frowned, crossing his arms. "That was still wrong of him."

"Don't you remember anything?" the coyote asked.

"Only intense pain," he sniffed.

"Roger, you flew 6 feet in the air with steam pouring out your mouth and nose like a kettle on overboil. You can toon."

The rabbit laughed, looking away. But Wiley was suddenly in front him, clapping him by the shoulders. His eyes glowed like intense yellow suns.

"Other toons when given the same amount would just poof steam and that's it. You? You were like a storm of destruction, Roger. I've never seen anything like it." He poked Roger on the chest. "It's locked inside you and we're going to bring it out."

Porky having a visual flashback. Wile running so fast at a pinprick, he blurs. Sylvester contorting into harmful figures that should have broken his bones. Even lamp posts' bendable poles that were supposed to be metal.

Roger looked down on his furry hands. Can he really do all of that?

He clenched his fists. He wouldn't make a hole if he hits a wall. He'll only get hurt with a broken nose. He'll still be visible if he runs no matter how scared he is. And no matter how fast he goes? There will only be one Roger.

"Roger."

He looked up to see Wile looking at him with those cunning, yellow eyes.

"From now on, don't think it's impossible. You're only one apostrophe away from 'I'm possible.'"

XOXOXOXO

Back to the present…

"That was a nice peptalk," Jessica commented.

"Yeah, but knowing it here," Roger pointed at his temple, "and feeling it here," he prodded his own chest, "can be two different things."

"Studying toon physics from the Master Professor himself," Jessica said, placing her half-empty drink on the coffee table. "I didn't know you're such a scholar yourself."

Roger nodded in agreement. "And people always act surprised when they find that out," he replied, a fly buzzing inside his ear and coming out of the other.

Jessica gave a silent chuckle.

"But not Cheri!"

Roger straightened up, his floppy feet swinging up and down. "Cheri believes that anyone can learn. They just learn in their own way!"

He looked up, smiling, as though remembering. "People always think us toons act sthtupid. But Cheri is one of those toons that can make them change their minds!"

Cheri again?

"It's nice, Roger, that you're such a devoted boyfriend to her."

Roger stared at her, the happy expression suddenly looking frozen.

"WHAT?!" he squawked, straightening up stiff, even his ears shot up to the ceiling.

Jessica cringed at the shrill screaming of steam rushing out of his red ears. His mouth sputtered spit and phrases as his hands uselessly tried to do something.

"Th-th- what- I mean -he -I -um- Jeepers! You got it all wrong!" he exclaimed, fine steam now rising from his blurring, crimson body. Blurring because he was shaking his head while waving his arms away. Even his ears are crossing and uncrossing in denial.

"I'm sorry, Roger, it's just that you spend so much time around her and the way-"

"She's not my girlfriend!" He was now moving so fast he looks like he was swatting away a rabid moth.

Jessica blinked, her figure a calm straight statue against the storm named Roger. "Oh. You just seem to mention her a lot."

"She's not!" he repeated. He yelped when the soles of his feet began to smoke. He hopped around, trying to avoid scorching his floor.

He finally resorted to flapping his ears like a helicopter. Meanwhile, Jessica passed by him to open a window. Steam immediately poured outside.

"I'm sorry," Jessica said.

He was looking down on the floor, his feet still floating. There was silence except for the quiet whir of his ears.

Jessica turned back to close the window. Behind her, she could hear him drop quietly on the ground. She mentally shook her head. Roger can get embarrassed over the littlest things. Ladies finding him cute. Herman's innuendous jokes. But never to this affected degree.

"She likes sthomeone else."

She turned around. But Roger was now staring at the floor, his hands behind his back.

Eyes are said to be windows to the soul. While Jessica's gaze is veiled but penetrating, Roger never thought twice into looking into someone's eyes with that honest, open gaze. Yet she got this feeling that he wasn't looking at the ground to check on scorch marks.

"You liked her," Jessica stated. Roger flinched at her words as though he'd rather not let them touch him.

But he still goes where Cheri wants them to go. Still there for her when she needs him.

Just like him with anyone else.

So why does this feel different?

"Do you still… have feelings for her?" her traitorous mouth asked before her mind could approve it.

Silence. Roger looking down his feet. Jessica had a way of seeing people's thoughts in their eyes. Although Herman always said he was an open book.

He didn't respond. She looked away. It really is a strange sight to see him close himself.

"I'm sorry, Roger. I shouldn't have asked."

But then Roger finally looked up and Jessica was finally able to see his eyes: conflict.

"It's hard to know when she keeps coming back."


Author's Notes: there's a term for what we call people in Roger's situation. Guess what that is? Please don't forget to review or comment in this chapter :)