#Greasy Weasel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashogram · 9 months ago

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Toon Patrol/Fem!Reader

Rated G for gun violence.

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You stood at the very back of the studio, trying not to let restlessness get the better of you. You contented yourself by looking at the set that had been vacated of its cast before your return — a beautiful matte painting of an open field with a frame of oak trees.

It was so eye-catching and lovely contrasted with the clutter of camera equipment and occasional crewmembers. A veritable oasis in the middle of a desert.

You sighed wistfully.

Your mentor Cliff had gone long ago, off to help pull together another reel of film post-edit. It was tempting to pout over the injustice of not being invited, since your whole purpose was to observe and learn that very thing. Instead you’d been left to the wolves as a glorified PA, running around town to get whatever was needed by this person or that — all of them higher on the totem pole than yourself. So, you had no chance of refusing, not that you hadn’t tried.

You’d been working here for almost two weeks and people still treated you like you were invisible, or a nuisance. First day on the job and your most important lesson was: if you’re not talent or the director, you’re not worth a second glance.

With a scrunch of your nose in distaste, you waved away the thought. You’d already browbeaten yourself enough for being so meek. There was nothing for it now but to do better next time.

-*-

Cliff pushed a box of random props into your arms. “Here girl. Take these out to the lot and throw ‘em away.”

You stared down your nose at the contents, spying at least two oversized rolling pins, a ‘toon bomb with a singed fuse, a slide whistle, a white flag and a dozen or so bent cartoon nails.

“Wh—?”

“They’re defective! No need for ‘em anymore.” Your mentor continued. “When you come back I’ll bring you to the RCA system, watch ‘em match up the audio.”

“Oh! Really?!” You brightened. “That’s - I - Really, Cliff?! Will I really get to — ?”

Cliff cut you off, perpetually watering eyes narrowed as he frowned.

“Yeah, yeah, now go! Don’t dawdle! We don’t need anymore junk clutterin’ this place up.” Cliff ‘hmphed’ around his stogie. “Got enough clowns runnin’ rampant as it is.”

Your lips pressed together firmly as you tried to reel in the tempest of emotions in your chest. As exciting as the reward sounded, you failed to see how taking out the trash was part of your job description.

“Yes, sir.” You muttered finally.

With another world-weary sigh, you trudged off and headed toward the back door that led outside.

-*-

The walk over to the dumpsters was particularly painful with not only the distance to account for, but the many stairs as well. You could feel blisters forming on your heels and where pressure pinched at your toes.

One would hope that breaking in sensible pumps wouldn’t take long, but then you were constantly on your feet these days. There was little to no time for sitting and healing as you were jerked around from one end of the set to the next at everyone’s beck and call.

A siren was going off in the distance, intermingling with the sound of the trolley ding’ing at its next stop. You could faintly hear the clacking of dress shoes and a shout from someone unknown just beyond the gate that separated the studio and the outside world of L.A.

The air turned from pleasantly fresh to sour, dragging you back to the task at hand. The dumpsters sat waiting.

You groaned at the realization that you had to set your box of miscellaneous down to open the dumpster lid. It was the little things in life that piled up and blocked you from a simple, joyous life.

Two women costumed to look like Little Bo Peep rounded the corner as you maneuvered the lid open. They didn’t appear to see you, let alone lend a hand as they hurried off. And the same could be said of a man swerving past you, his dress shirt half-soaked in sweat.

Typical.

“Did this… box get… heavier?” You groused, lugging it up from the pavement.

You had to use the dumpster to wedge the box between it and yourself, hoisting it toward the lip. It was merely a coincidence that you decided to take a last look inside before throwing it away.

The ‘toon frog inside croaked at you.

Your scream set him off like a springtrap, and you were knocked back onto the heated road with a hiss. It hurt — your elbow smacked into the ground and the trapped heat from the sun stung your legs through the nylon barrier as you landed on your behind.

Teeth clenched, you tried to distract yourself from the pain. Above you the frog stood, stretched out to his full height — which was sizable given how he’s squished himself into a standard cardboard box. His attire stood out like something a bandmate would march in during a parade procession.

The frog trembled from head-to-toe, eyes darting all around.

“I’m so sorry! So sorry! So sorry! I didn’t mean to knock you over, Miss! I was just looking for somewhere to-to-to-to—!”

You got back onto your feet awkwardly, wincing as you brushed dust and dirt from your backside. “To scare me?”

“—To hide!” He shrieked, fumbling over his own webbed feet.

You frowned, mouth opening just as the distant siren drowned everything else out. The gate into the studio burst open simultaneously, sending your heart plummeting as a patrol vehicle raced forward.

The frog screamed with you this time as he leapt into the air and dove into your arms. His long arms wrapped ‘round your neck and squeezed.

Vision starting to swim, hearing beginning to ring, you could do nothing but stumble back with arms full of terrified amphibian as the car screeched to a halt.

“Awlright Gills!” A nasal voice called out. “End ‘a the line!”

The driver’s side door of the van opened, and out popped a ‘toon weasel bedecked in a pink suit jacket and matching fedora.

And as if on cue, more weasels filed out from all sides of the car, hurrying to follow the first one’s lead.

“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Please!” The frog stuttered in your ear. “I didn’t hear anything! I didn’t see anything! Please believe me!”

It did not block out the sound of guns being cocked. You went ramrod straight at the sound, and stared like a deer in headlights as the group of weasels crowded in.

You whimpered, overwhelmed and afraid at the sudden turn of events. The guns pointed at you looked real.

“Look-it dis, boys.” The weasel in pink snarked. “Froggy says he ain’t guilty, but he’s hidin’ behind a dame! Sure looks like a ‘red-bellied’ snitch ta me!”

The weasel’s fellow ‘toons all laughed, and you gagged as the frog’s arms constricted around you again. The lack of oxygen was making you dizzy, preventing you from staying still through the stand-off.

“She don’t look so good, eh boss?” Another weasel asked, eyes trained on you moreso than the frog.

You began to sway back and forth, a high heel catching in a divot. You pitched forward unexpectedly.

“No! No! No!” The frog wailed.

“Uh-oh!” A high-pitched voice exclaimed, followed by a stream of cackles. The spots in your vision and the ringing in your ears prevented you from caring, however.

Even the sound of a gunshot, and the subsequent cry of the frog as he finally let go of your neck and jumped off of you, took its time catching up to your sluggish thoughts.

You gasped, air filling your lungs in short bursts until you coughed. Above and around you, the sounds of a cartoon scuffle filled the lot as the frog attempted another escape.

He had sprung from you after being startled by the gunshot before you could hit the ground and hit the dumpster, feet landing on a rolling pin and tripping him up. It left him flailing for just long enough to get ambushed by the Toon Patrol, who rushed him.

The frog bounded over Smartass’s head, ripping the fedora off his head, and leaving the leader to clutch at nothing but air, to slam it over Stupid’s eyes. Psycho took the opportunity to grip the perp’s feet and pull him down harder than gravity could as Wheezy snatched up the cartoon bat that had been dropped in the fray and hit the frog right between his bulbous eyes.

It sent the poor thing flying back into the dust, legs sticking up in the air as he moaned, stars circling his head.

-*-

A small crowd of humans and ‘toons alike had gathered yards away from you, but you paid it no mind as the frog was hauled away by the seat of his pants. The amphibian remained unconscious as he was swung back and forth rather merrily by two of the weasels before being thrown into the back of their car.

The sound of him hitting the interior made you flinch, but you also instinctively grabbed for your neck, and shuddered at the phantom feeling of being choked.

You inhaled slowly, willing yourself to calm down. Thankfully, a distraction emerged when you saw the Toon Patrol (per what it said on the side of the cab) leader dithering near you still. His beady eyes roved around the area, combing it for something — something —

“Thank you...” You said when he was within earshot.

His ears perked up before that glare was pointed in your direction. You swallowed down your apprehension.

“… For, uh, for helping me from being strangled.” You continued, gently.

It felt true enough, even if you felt a little bad about how the situation was handled. From what you could tell, neither you nor the frog had been shot. It must’ve been a tactic meant to scare only.

You hoped so at least.

“Wasn’ nothing, doll.” He snapped, claws still feeling for his hat as if it would magically appear.

You frowned, pushing down the feeling of reproach at his gruff tone. It would seem that even ‘toon law enforcement would rather wave you off than speak to you.

Eyes trailing down, you spotted the fedora a few feet away and you quickly scooped it up, intent on remedying your hurt feelings with people-pleasing.

“Well, thank you anyway.” You said sincerely before you bent down and planted a kiss right between the weasel’s little ears.

It was funny. You noticed before you could place the hat back on the weasel’s head how his eyes bulged in their sockets. For a split second the ‘toon looked well and truly gobsmacked by your little token of gratitude.

The rest of his posse stilled their endless shuffling, fidgeting and slinking about to mirror the bewilderment of their boss.

Their leader eventually shook himself free of the shock to whirl about. The permanent scowl on his face deepened as he glared at you. His hat was snatched out of your hands, with the weasel hissing between yellow incisors.

“Why you—!”

“Aye!” Your head snapped up, and you blinked rapidly at the weasel in green. “Whattabout me?!”

His narrowed eyes had blown out wide, zeroed in on you while his jaw hung open. The weasel hurriedly clamped it shut when he caught your attention, trying and failing to contain the mix of awe, indignation and desperation on his face. You noticed, idly, how he was the most well-dressed out of his counterparts as he stalked toward you.

You were taken aback when he elbowed the weasel next to you out of the way and grabbed your hand before you could back off.

The green-clad ‘toon took his hat in his other hand, revealing a shock of slicked-back black hair. It distracted you from his hungry gaze roaming up and down your form.

“It was an honor to be your hero, bella dama.” His voice was as oily as his hair. “I would happily accept your kiss as ‘thank you’.”

“Oh.” You responded dumbly. “Um, I-I suppose…”

A squeak left you as the ‘toon kissed your hand, his grip tightening without warning so that he could pull you closer. Suddenly, he was kissing his way up your arm, heedless to your bewilderment at his wildly inappropriate actions.

The kisses grew more and more amorous as he continued, openly slavering over you as if your bare skin was an addictive substance he couldn’t get enough of. And every single one was punctuated with a loud ‘MUAH’.

Blood rushed to your ears as you saw the weasel’s tongue slide across your forearm—

“Quit messin’ around!” Your sleazy counterpart was ripped away from you with a yelp.

His entire body snapped back like a rubber band, neck stretching comically as he tried to continue kissing you until the very last second.

“We got no time for these ‘shenagrains’! We still gotta frog to flay!” The leader spat, smacking Green over the head for good measure.

A chorus of laughter followed the strike as the other three weasels pointed and laughed at their cohorts’ melodramatic abuse.

The touchy one bared his yellow teeth, spouting what you could only imagine were curses, though they were yelled in what you believed was Spanish. He dove for his leader, and immediately they began to tussle in the dusty roadway.

You stood up again, grimacing at the scene and wondering if you should intervene or not. Until you jumped out of your skin as the hem of your dress was tugged.

“Heeheeheeheh…” Swirling eyes met your own, so shiny that they reflected your stunned expression back at you.

“You want a kiss?” You asked.

The only response was more high-pitched giggling from the scrawny thing. You felt nervousness creep up your spine as you took in the overlong sleeves of what you just now realized was a straightjacket wrapped around this one. And there was a straight razor clenched between his teeth, glinting in the early noon sun.

Panic crawled up your throat, but you forced yourself to take a big, albeit silent, breath. Toons were made to entertain, not cause harm. At least, not to humans.

You softened up with a smile, brushing back the weasel’s wildly unkempt hair and pressing your lips to his hairline.

“Heehee…” The giggling went on under his breath.

A wet nose pressed against the column of your throat briefly, sniffing over your skin. Hot puffs of air blew back your hair before you heard him inhale deeply.

You pulled back to see the loony ‘toon rocking from side to side, his sleeves crossed over his lanky body in a self-hug. Those eyes swirled twice as fast, a manic grin stretching over his long face.

“I li~ike that.” He sing-songed between giggles. “Kissies feel go~od! Eheeheeheehee!”

The laughing, as freaky as it was, was infectious. Laughter bubbled out of you as well, shaking your shoulders and forcing you to press your lips together.

You couldn’t stifle it so much when the largest weasel of the whole gang bumped into your side. How he managed to sneak up on you with all his bulk was a mystery.

“Duhh we did good?” He asked you.

“Very good!” You laughed, your frame vibrating with the forcefulness of it. “Thank you very much!”

This weasel’s eyes didn’t swirl, but they shapeshifted into hearts once you kissed his furry cheek. You nearly snorted over how he sank into a bashful pose, and at the way the propeller on his hat spun without even a light breeze to push it.

“D’awww…” His tongue hung out like a lazy dog’s as he looked up at you through would-be fluttering lashes. “Boss! Did you see that? Da lady gave me a kiss!”

“Ese idiota got a kiss!” You heard from behind. “You all got a kiss but me! ¡Sois ratas! ¡Estás todos contra mí!”

Well now, not all of them had. You couldn’t stop laughing, but you managed to find the only other patroller you had not made any contact with.

The one that was shades more blue than his fellow ‘toons hung back. He made no move to come toward you; just stood in the haze of his own smoke cloud.

You didn’t want to push. Instead, still on that jittery buzz of good humor, you blew him a kiss to compromise. You imagined that if you were a ‘toon yourself, your kiss would’ve literally flown right to him.

Blue’s pinkened eyes seemed to widen, reminiscent of his boss’s reaction, before narrowing again to scrutinize you. The many cigarettes in his maw billowed smoke on double time, reminding you of the phrase ‘smoke coming outta your ears’.

Perhaps it was just their natural theatrics — admittedly, you’d not been working amongst ‘toons for very long, let alone visited Toontown as you planned to do… at some point. But you had to wonder if these poor creatures had ever been shown affection in their lives.

Wiping a tear from your eye, you tried to curb your giggles and turn toward that overly — affectionate — weasel. You knew full well that it was a terrible idea but his whining made you feel bad, and you intended to humor him (as long as his boss held him back from the unwanted smooching).

Intention cut short when you jolted in place at the sight of a man in all black standing behind you.

“Oh!” You gasped.

You felt a chill the longer you stared at him. An imposing man in all black, staring at you from behind opaque spectacles beneath the sharp brim of his own hat. He stood unnaturally still, like a stone pillar, and you got the distinct impression that he’d meant to frighten you.

Then he smiled, baring uncannily perfect white teeth in your direction.

#who framed roger rabbit #toon patrol #wfrr #silliness #smartass weasel #greasy weasel #psycho weasel #wheezy weasel #stupid weasel #i had to get it out of my system and it took forever

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shy-nightmare · 1 month ago

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The Toonz Twins: Toontown Sleuths

Chapter Thirteen: Paint and Tears

Summary: The time has come to learn the truth about the Twisted Toonz Twins with a bucketful of paint and tears.

Credit for inspiration goes to @imaginarytoon1, author of “The Birchwood Twins: Toontown Investigators” and @its-metal-mistress, author of “Bendy and the Ink Machine: Learning How to Live”. Please check out their own wonderful content ^^!

PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING WARNINGS. THIS IS THE SADDEST AND DARKEST CHAPTER I HAVE EVER WRITTEN 💔💔💔. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THE FOLLOWING TRIGGERS YOU.

Special Guests Tags 😊: @marinerainbow, @slashingdisneypasta, @weaselnerd, @spookiifi, @lastofautumn , @amberfox232. Please give a special shoutout to our new guest, @heartsissopure! 🥳🥳🥳

WARNING: This chapter contains graphic violence, murder, heavy angst, death, gore, mentions of imprisonment and slavery, domestic and child abuse, Toon and hybrid Toon discrimination, attempted murder. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

The twins teleported out of Toontown and arrived at the corner of the Terminal Bar Station. Despite Tom’s enhanced healing abilities, Twyla insisted that he’d receive medical attention. Tom tried to protest, but a glare from Twyla Toonz was enough to make any tough bastard weak in the bladder. And that does not exclude her brother either. So the gang leader sighed and swallowed down his pride, allowing himself to be escorted to Dolores while his right arm hung limply around his sister’s shoulders.

Luckily, the bar was nearly completely empty, save for a couple of regulars. Dolores looked up from the countertop while cleaning a glass shot, expecting new customers. However, she almost dropped the glass and her blue eyes widened in alarmed shock seeing Tom all bruised and bloody. She quickly regained her composure and turned to her customers.

“Bar’s closed. Everybody, leave.” Dolores calmly addressed the men, though her tone was enfolded with a soft but firm authority. When they just sat there and gave her confused, albeit a little drunken-irked looks, her lips pursed. “Do you have corn in your ears? Bar’s close! Get out! Don’t make me grab my bat!”

This time, they got the message. The dreaded mention of her bat sent all of them scurrying down the stairs, barely acknowledging the twins’ presence. Once the bar was now void of customers (and potential snitches), Dolores sprang into action. She turned to the lower shelves behind her and pulled out a medical kit before she scurried out of the bar and hastily walked towards the secret rotgut room.

“Bring him here. Last thing we need are witnesses and some hunk-hunting floozies.” She told them, placing her hand on the handle. Looking over her shoulder, she caught Twyla raising an eyebrow, and the bartender scoffed, “You think I gotta deal with just booze-guzzling bums? This is a bar, you know.”

Twyla shrugged her shoulders in response. That’s a fair point.

She carefully walked her brother towards the rotgut room just as Dolores pushed the secret door open. As expected, Roger’s head poked out while greeting his saviors with a smile. “Hiya, again—SWEET SUFFERIN’ SUCCOTASH!!!” his cheerful expression dropped instantly, and his sky-blue eyes bulged out of their sockets in stricken terror. He didn’t hear Dolores shush him, instead he could only gape at Tom’s injuries as the Toon duo entered the narrow room. Dolores had to retreat to ensure all doors and windows were locked and secured while Twyla helped her brother towards the bed.

“I don’t need no babysitter,” Tom grumbled lowly, “I can do it myself.”

Twyla lightly smacked him by the back of his thick-furred skull. “Tom, you’re bleeding and covered in bruises. Plus, I just watched you get stabbed multiple times while muzzled and handcuffed to a chair.”

“He got what?!” both Dolores and Roger cried out shrilly. Roger took a few feet back, giving Dolores enough space to grab a nearby stool and pull it towards the bed. “Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?!” she demanded.

“Doom caught us sneaking into the club, and the weasels tried to get us to talk.” Twyla explained, taking off her hat, unbuttoning her blazer and setting it to the side. “Fuckin’ bastards.”

“But what about Eddie? Where is he?”

“We weren’t able to get him out,” the she-wolf Twisted Toon shook her head, sighing in remorse. “He’s still in Toontown.”

“Fuck.” Dolores hissed softly to herself, but the twins caught up on the worry in her tone. But they didn’t have time for that. She quickly put on a fresh apron, and instructed Tom, “You might wanna take your shirt off.”

He sighed. He’s been through this so many times, but he still complied. Despite the stabbing pain on his chest and shoulder, he was able to remove his jacket and unbutton his dark dress shirt with little difficulty. He pushed the sleeves back with his muscled shoulders, exposing his form. Unlike Twyla, who covered hers with an eerie emblem of tattoos, Tom’s muscular body was embellished with scars. Pale gray scars scattered his body like constellations of war, and each one held a grim story like his sister’s. Battle scars, claw marks, bullet wounds, etc.

Dolores opened the lid of the kit, revealing the contents she would need to heal Tom. Twyla peered into the kit, arching a brow. “Is this…a Toon medical kit?”

“I did say this is a bar, didn’t I?” The twins glanced up at Dolores, and she knew they didn’t buy that half-hearted rhetoric. “All right, all right. Before shit went down, Eddie would sometimes request my help to heal Toons who got themselves pricked while he took their cases. I’m not racist.”

“Thank Walt for that,” Roger wiped off the sweat from his forehead.

“Which one is first?” Dolores asked. Tom pointed to the angry red slash trickling down his chest. She sighed, pulling out a clean washcloth and a small bottle of peroxide. “You ready?”

Tom nodded, bracing himself.

The bartender, who was now apparently a nurse, carefully poured small doses of anti-infection liquid and set the bottle down. She gently held Tom’s left shoulder and began to dab him. The male Toon wolf growled in responsive pain, inhaling deep through his nostrils before exhaling slowly to calm himself. Still stings like a bitch!

Twyla watched the lady nurse her brother, covering her mouth to hold back the sob clogged in her throat. This is all her fault. She should have used her invisibility power to take out the weasels and get the guys out of their headquarters while she clearly had the chance, regardless of if they had enchanted weapons or not. They couldn’t be Monster Toon hunters, though. They lacked finesse, expertise, and perception.

And the judge…she will murder him too. Maybe she’ll dip him in the same vat he used to brutally murder that Toon shoe in cold blood. She’ll repeat the same slow, agonizing torture he bestowed upon that poor shoe. La giustizia è meglio servita con la vendetta. Justice is served best with vengeance.

She saw Roger taking a cautious step towards her and offered a comforting hand. He slightly recoiled, ready to pull away if she denied the gesture. But she relaxed and thanked him with a kind smile, giving a slight nod of her head.

After fifteen more minutes, Dolores finished wrapping the layer of gauze around Tom’s chest and taped a small padding on his injured shoulder. “That should do it.” she sighed with exhaustion, getting up from the stool and walking over to wash her hands. As she dried them with a towel, she acknowledged Twyla’s concerns. “He should be able to sleep it off, but make sure he changes his gauze and cleans his wounds.”

“Thank you.” The wolf girl nodded. Dolores returned her nod and left the Toon trio. Tom sat up straighter while minding his injuries, gently placing an ice pack on his bruised scarred eye. “You all right, sis?”

No. Yes? Maybe? Fuck no. Twyla couldn’t choose any one as an answer, so all she could do was let out a heavy sigh. That seemed to be enough for him.

“Sorry. I should’ve known better than that.” The leader reprimanded himself. He let out another hiss of pain as he gently applied more pressure on the black eye. He is going to shoot that pink-clad, Brooklyn bastard weasel’s eye out the next time he takes a swing at him! Or maybe he’ll gouge both out while his boys watched.

Suddenly, Twyla’s head snapped up like she had forgotten something and looked around the lower corners of the room, looking for an outlet. The boys watched her with confusion, but she ignored them. After she found one and cleared some stuff away, she manifested herself in a Toon-Tornado and revealed a sizeable table with an uplifted chair. The table was set with computer software and technology decades beyond the time period’s enhancement, consisting of a desktop computer, a scanner, a tablet, and an active stylus pen. On the far end of the table held a science kit holding multiple beakers and flasks. Twyla found a chord and knelt underneath the desk to plug in the outlet. Light blue luminescence glowed from the screens. “Yes!” she fisted.

“Oh, boy! What is all this neat stuff?” Roger asked, curiously inspecting the other Toon’s equipment. He peered at the glass beakers close enough to morph his face and made various goofy faces.

“It’s my old forensics kit.” Twyla smiled proudly, pulling out the small baggie of the yellow paint.

“Forensics? Ooh! You mean that criminal science stuff?”

“Yep. Took three years of it in high school.” It had been a while since she last used her old tools. Originally, she took the class as an opportunity while taking chemistry for educational purposes…as well as rising above the ranks she and her brother were more or less “placed” in the hierarchical standards of their former—and good-ridden—“classmates” and those sick, uncaring fuckbag teachers.

“Sooo….” The Toon rabbit cocked his head innocently, scratching his head. “Why does she need this stuff?”

“It may help prove your innocence and find the fucker who killed Acme,” Tom answered, watching his sister pull up a microscope and set up the stage controls once she scanned a printed photograph of the rope that was used for the safe. While she waited for the photo to pop up on her screen, she carefully applied a tiny amount of yellow paint on the glass clip and slowly slid it across the specimen stage beneath the lens. Twyla pulled the chair and took a seat, then she peered into the eyepiece tube.

“Hmm…” she hummed thoughtfully. The whole room was quiet, save for the soft humming of the computer. The dark-haired Toon forensics specialist slightly adjusted the stage controls and sharpened the focus, then after another minute of silence, she let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, shit.”

“What?” Tom’s brows slightly rose, and Roger’s ears lowered.

“This guy certainly ain’t no amateur,” his sister replied. “The paint is too cartoonishly drawn to be the dry, hardened flanks of man-made paint. Roger, did you by any chance, accidentally lose your glove on the night of the murder?”

“Hmm. Let me think,” the accused murderer rubbed his chin, his long ears gearing up. Then, he perked up. “Yes! I did! I had to escape through Jessica’s dressing room window because I heard Bongo coming. My glove must have slipped off.”

“And the killer must have found the glove and used it to frame you.”

“Exactly!” Roger agreed, “See? I told you guys! Boy, I can��t wait to see the look on Eddie’s face!”

“Yeah, and he owes me $20 bucks.” Tom snickered.

“Santino will have to be notified, as well.” Twyla mentioned the other man. That is, if the forensics team in this decade aren’t able to find enough evidence to prove Roger innocent.

Ding!

All three heads turned to the computer. The scanning procedure was now complete. Twyla whirled her chair back and touched the mouse, inspecting the contents of the photograph. The size was 9x11 in height and width, giving a promising view of the traces of paint on the rope. Twyla gave the mouse a couple of clicks, before zooming in on the rope. She studied the paint long and hard, her amethyst eyes inspecting with deep scrutiny. The paint was indeed Toon paint, but it was the fingerprints she focused on. The ridges were curved, the valleys were horizontal, and the core point was at the sole center. Nothing like a rabbit. Or a…

Twyla’s jaw dropped in shock. “Wait a goddamn minute.”

“What? What is it?”

“Guys, come here.” Twyla gestured with a manicured claw. The boys hurriedly walked until they stood on each side. “Look at the fingerprints. The killer was wearing Roger’s glove, but the size of the fingers is too realistic in bone texture and proportion. And Roger only has four fingers. The killer has five.”

Tom’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped too. “Holy fuckin’ shit.”

“What does that mean?” Roger asked, perplexed.

“The son of a bitch is a human.”

________

Dawn rose early the next morning.

It took full convincing, but Tom eventually assured his concerned twin sister that he was recovered enough to go out and find Valiant. He did, however, remind her that somebody needed to stay and keep an eye on Roger besides Dolores. That, and he didn’t want her to be on the risk of getting Toonnapped by Doom’s bastard boogle again.

The ink-furred Toon heard a Toon alarm clock ringing, confirming that he was getting closer to the Mount Hollywood Tunnel. Thankfully, the green shrubbery near the lamp post was dense enough for him to hide without getting spotted. He quickly blended in the dark shadows, and slowly pulled out his revolver just as he heard an echo of giggling and laughter.

Suddenly, Eddie flew out of the tunnel with the burlap sack still over his head, roughly tumbling over the ground as he landed. A moment later, the weasels stepped out of the tunnel, and they were carrying…paintbrushes? Psycho zigzagged around, holding a Toon bucket of paint.

An uneasiness clenched Tom’s chest. What the fuck did they do to Valiant?

“Kinda stubborn, wasn’t he, Boss?” Greasy snickered, struggling not to laugh.

“Pig-headed, I’d say.” Smartass agreed, winking at his psychotic comrade. His boys trailed after him, laughing wickedly. “I think it’s safe to 'presume' he got da message.”

“You already slayed it, Boss!” his right-hand cackled, roughly nudging Psycho. Smartass gestured to them to follow back into the tunnel, but to Tom’s confusion, Greasy stayed behind. He waited until they were out of earshot, and he looked around the valley. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted in Spanish.

"¡Lupita, mi amor, si estás aquí, tu jefe testarudo está ileso! Le acabamos de dar... ¡Uh, un trabajo de pintura!"

Tom growled with hot anger, his blood boiling from hearing the perverted weasel giving his sister a pet name. But just as his wrath took over his conscience and cocked his gun, he heard the Hispanic gangster shout again but with more urgency.

“Y por favor, por el amor de Dios, ¡sal de este caso mientras puedas!”

Tom’s brows rose up in surprise. What did he mean, “get out of the case while you still can”?

He waited until Greasy eventually turned around and ran off to catch up with the pack, and Tom ran out of his hiding spot to get to Eddie.

“Wha?” the disgruntled detective flailed his arms, “Who’s there? Twyla, is that you?”

“Wrong twin.” Tom responded, taking a few steps back while holding his hands up.

“Tom? Will you get this sack off my head?!”

“Oh yeah, sure.” His assistant replied. Eddie leaned down slightly, and Tom pulled the sack off…and his jaw dropped to the ground.

“Oh, my God.”

“What?!” Eddie exclaimed, feeling his chest clench.

The Toon shook himself and tried to calm his boss. “Boss, try to stay calm.”

Despite his attempt to ease his frantic nerves, that only seemed to distress Eddie even more. He touched his face, but he felt something else on his face instead. Something living, breathing, and not human. His face paled, and his heart froze in horror. “Oh, God!” He pulled on the pig mask’s ear, and it snapped back. “Ow!”

“Boss. It’s gonna be OK.” the grizzled detective didn’t seem to hear his Toon employee and continued to touch his painted face. His hands trembled with a growing dread and bemoaned again. “Oh, no! I’VE BEEN TOON-AROONED!” He screamed and ran like his life depended on it.

“Valiant! Wait!” Tom cried out. He turned back to give the empty tunnel a low growl, then ran to catch up to Eddie before folks report seeing a terrified man wearing a Toon pig mask running around town like a dancing headless chicken.

Twyla

“When are they gonna be back? I’m booooooorrrrred!” Roger whined dramatically.

Twyla sighed, knowing that being locked up in a rotgut room for almost a whole day was starting to get to him. “Sorry, Roger. But we can’t take any risks with the judge and his goons huntin’ our asses.”

As soon as Tom left after breakfast, Twyla created a Toon-drawn bathroom with a shower and sink to freshen up. Instead of getting dolled up in a gangster outfit, she decided to return to her roots and wear her casual gothic biker attire, which consisted of an embroidered sweetheart threaded in black velvet and dark jeans. She laid her beloved jacket on a coat rack she found and sat down next to Roger before resting her face in her palms in exhaustion. Fuck, now she knew how her parents felt hiding from the cops back in their prime.

Tom

“Mr. Valiant?” a sultry voice called to Eddie. “Mr. Valiant?”

The boys quickened in freshening up and put on clothes before leaving the bathroom. Tom walked behind Eddie and saw a red-headed beauty checking her reflection and painting her lips like she was some sort of model.

Tom’s ears lowered, and his dark fur bristled. “What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled menacingly, taking one step forward. “You just sat there the whole time and watched us get our asses tossed and didn’t even bother to help us! What the fuck?!”

Jessica answered but didn’t spare the two a glance. “You got the wrong idea about me, boys. I’m a pawn in this just like Roger. Can you two help me find him?” she applied another layer of lipstick, “Just name your price and I’ll pay it.”

“Yeah. I bet you would,” Eddie said bitterly. He didn’t forget about her either. “You gotta have the rabbit to make the scam work.”

“No, no, no!” Jessica responded, surprising Tom with the little crack in her voice. “I love my husband. You got me all wrong.” She placed her gloves hands on her swaying hips, taking a stroll that would make a siren turn green with envy. “You don’t know how hard it is…looking the way I do.”

“Yeah, well…” Eddie spoke in a trance, like he did the first night he saw her. “You don’t know how hard it is being a man…looking at a woman looking the way you do.”

“I’m not bad,” Jessica looked over her shoulder, “I’m just drawn that way.”

Twyla

Twyla was reviewing the evidence she managed to dig, holding a tablet while drawing a sketch of the photograph on her tablet. She liked to sketch while passing the time and felt like it was important to do so for the photograph.

“Hey, Twyla?” Roger asked.

“Hmm?” Twyla set her supplies down and turned her attention to the Toon rabbit.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he cast his gaze down at the floor, his blue eyes filled with hesitation. He’s got something on his mind.

“…Why do you not talk as much?”

Tom

“You still haven’t answered his question,” Eddie’s frown deepened, joining Tom on his skeptical glare. Dolores was never like this. She never plays mind games on him with her own beauty and charm. She’s more of a diamond in the rough. Tough and gritty, but sweet like caramel beneath her quirky snark. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

“He’s the judge of Toontown, for God’s sake,” Jessica reminded him, her unveiled emerald eye flickered a small flame of anger. “And those weasels will do whatever the hell he says just for their own sick kicks!” she exhaled a quick breath, running down her hands through her waistline to regain her composure.

She then turned her gaze to Tom and alluringly ambled to him. Her icy green eyes thawed just a layer and pursed her full red lips in a small pout. “I’m not a murderer. Please, Mr. Toonz.” How did she even know his name? “You must believe me. We Toons got to stick together.”

Despite her captivating charm, Eddie was not going to let her win Tom over. He got in between the two Toons and lightly pushed the younger investigator away. “Right, like you expect us to buy that shi—”

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve.”

Bewildered, Eddie and Jessica turned back to Tom whose face was darkened by the brim of his fedora. For a moment, they couldn’t see his eyes from underneath his hat, but they could see the hateful grimace and his furry fists clenched so tightly, his knuckles turned white. Suddenly, Tom whipped his head back up and the two of them flinched. A dark mass of ink was dripping down the left side of the Toon wolf’s face, and inky raindrops trickled from the tips of his rugged, pointy ears. A resonant, spine-chilling growl rumbled from his chest, but it was his eyes the startled them the most. The white sclera of his orbs faded from white to solid black, and his pie-cut eyes sharpened like two swords forged in fire and dipped in blood. Filled with fiery, ice-cold unrestrained hatred.

“T-Tom?” Eddie stuttered, his body frozen with confused horror.

The gangster didn’t seem to notice his boss and only took an enraged step towards the singer. “YOU’VE GOT SOME FUCKIN’ NERVE! YOU DIDN’T STOP BONGO FROM SLAMMING MY SISTER AGAINST THE WALL HARD ENOUGH TO CRACK HER SKULL IF SHE WAS A HUMAN! YOU DIDN’T STOP THOSE WEASELS FROM POUNCING ON ME AND FORCING A GODDAMN MUZZLE IN MY FACE BEFORE THEIR BOSS STABBED ME! THE TEACHERS DIDN’T STOP THOSE OTHER BASTARD KIDS FROM TAUNTING US ABOUT OUR LIVES AS HYBRIDS, ABOUT THE SHIT WE’VE BEEN THROUGH, ABOUT OUR PARENTS’ DEATHS!!!”

The sound of his raging, beating heart was deafening. Everything hurt so much as a violent flood of memories drowned Tom until he could barely gasp for breath. Screeching, buzzing and drumming memories whizzed around in his head like murder hornets. He ran his claws deep into his scalp, desperately finding some sort of sensation that could bring him back to reality. He forced himself to take deep, albeit shaky breaths while he waited for his ink to dissipate. It had been a long time since his anger or occasional panic attacks got out of control.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later when he regained control of himself, and his stomach churned from everything he’d just said. Fuck, he never meant to open that can of worms in front of two strangers. He looked up to meet the other two’s gazes, only to meet their looks of confusion, shock, and growing trepidation.

“What…what are you talking about?” Eddie asked.

Twyla

A sharp pang of unforgotten sorrow pierced the Toon ravenette’s inky heart, and Twyla’s ears lowered.

Roger knew he must have crossed a line and quickly apologized, “Wait, wait! I’m so sorry! You don’t need to answer, I didn’t mean to upset—”

To his surprise, a tired chuckle cut him off.

“Heh, it’s the first time anyone asked and sounded so sincere.” Roger looked back at the vigilante, raising a confused brow at her unexpected reaction. She rubbed her arms like she was hugging herself, and her enormous tail curled around her chair to rest on her boots. But it was her crescent-fallen, down casted gaze that startled Roger the most, and her orchid-painted eye was dewy with so much sadness.

“…I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble to anyone close to me.” Twyla sighed and began to tell her story. “Our parents died when we were pups.”

Roger cupped his hands over his mouth, blue eyes wide. “What? No!”

Twyla didn’t say anything, only grabbing her lighter and placing a black cigarette between her lips. She lit up the tip and blew a small puff of smoke. “I guess I’d say this tale starts a few years back. Once upon a time, in the city of Chicago, there was a Toon wolf named Tiziano Toonz who lived a life of crime. But he wasn’t like other Toons. He wasn’t even like other horror Toons.” She took a puff, continuing, “Some Toons are brought to life. Others are born through birth. My father…he was created by the leader of a powerful, extremely ruthless mafia through cartoon logic…and magic. Powerful, dark magic.”

“Dark magic?” Roger asked, then his eyes went wide like saucers. “You mean he was a…?”

Tom

“A Toon demon?” Eddie exclaimed. Jessica’s jaw dropped, horrified beyond comprehension and unable to speak due to the shocking truth.

Tom nodded.

“Yep. And I don’t mean it rhetorically, or poetically, or metaphorically, or any other fancy way. He was a real, living Toon demon straight up, created from a spell of infinite darkness and the blood of Lucifer Morningstar himself.”

An intense moment of silence descended upon them. Tom took that as an opportunity to predict what their next reactions, or movements, would be. Which, he predicted, didn’t take very long.

Eddie and Jessica were both equally dumbfounded beyond belief and stricken with a massive wave of horror leagues above description. It was kind of funny, seeing two people, a human and another Toon, dumbstruck and scared shitless at the presence of a Toon made through the darkest forces of creation, or the possibility of said creation ever occurring. Both of them were extremely pale beaded with sweat, and their eyes were wide with an increasingly intense storm of terror and trepidation as they finally began to grasp the reality of not just the twins’ existence, but the realization that if demon Toons exist, so do other monster Toons. In the minds of man, the possibilities are endless.

Tom couldn’t help but smirk at the looks on their faces. It was his father’s favorite thing in the world, the face of someone afraid of imagination—and death—in the eyes of a monster or a Toon. No matter what species they are, everyone makes the same one without fail. Not a lie to be found or a shadow of a doubt, a face that is genuinely honest.

As much as he’d love to stay and revel, he has a story and a case to finish.

“But that’s not the real issue here. The mafia may have had more control over the city than any other gang had, but they were losing a bloody battle. And even if there wasn’t a crime war, the city was still a living hell for Toons. All kinds of corruption happened like it was a fuckin’ every other day; blackmail, embezzlement, mass extortion, kidnappings…slavery and senseless slaughter. Their boss, Maximus Artino,” he bit his tongue to hold back the bile at the mention of his….grandfather. “Used to be a cartoonist before he turned to crime, and seeing how much he was losing, he got desperate. One night, under the light of the full moon, he created a model sheet of my father’s and brought it to a machine he personally built and brought several ingredients he needed for the spell. His spell worked…”

Tom’s lips curled into a sinister grin. “But at a terrible price.”

“As soon as Tiziano was created, he caused one hell of a massacre. He killed everyone that night. The guilty, the innocent, it didn’t matter. He drowned them with his ink, tore their corpses to shreds, hell, he even ripped their heads off all at once.” He sighed, smiling smugly like an old soul fondly reminiscing about a happy memory. “I’ll never forget how many times he told us that story before bed.”

Twyla

“But even though he killed all of them, Artino managed to immobilize him.” Twyla’s grin dropped, “And instead of putting him down, he used our father as a superweapon to win the war and kill the other mafia. Soon after that, he grew his empire back and continued his operations with Dad’s uncooperative help.”

“I remember hearing his screams every time he had a night terror. The things Artino did to him, the unimaginable pain and suffering he put him through while he was chained, beaten, and tortured.” Her voice darkened, laced with black wrath. “He was forced to take on missions, mostly assassinations and other executions. His imprisonment lasted for thirty years until…”

“Until what?” Roger asked, speechless.

Another smile, but much warmer, etched on her face. “Until he met Mom.”

Tom

“Her name…was Vesper. A woman you do not want to fuck with. She sang in one of the biggest nightclubs in Chicago since the Ritz, but she wasn’t a ditz who puts up with someone else’s bullshit. Not even the customers.” A snicker managed to crack Tom’s morbid mood, “Shit, I’ll never forget this one time when a guy had too much to drink and tried to sneak his hand up another lady’s skirt. Mom saw the whole thing, marched over, and crunched his hand so hard his bones turned to dust! Ha-ha, and then she stomped on his crotch hard enough to break his pelvis and she yelled, ‘SUCK ON THAT, DICK!’”

That managed to make Eddie laugh, despite his initial shock of his employees’…secret. “She sounds like one hell of a dame.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, and I can easily break your skull too if you’re not careful.” Tom playfully jabbed his boss’s chest, but the message was crystal clear.

His face became a grimace, “But like Dad, she was locked in a cage too.”

Twyla

“Not only was the nightclub she worked at very popular, but it also brought in the wrong crowd to do ‘business’ with the manager.” The Toonz sister flexed her two fingers with emphasis on “business”, her stomach clutching with repulsion. “And because she was a Toon drawn to sing in his nightclub, the manager often at times ‘advertised’ her to other human men as a treat if you catch my drift.”

“Disgusting!” Roger exclaimed, his furry face scrunching with complete horror and disgust. He couldn’t imagine how awful her life was before she met their father!

“I know, I know.” Twyla sighed with a nod. “Bein’ treated like a sex object is definitely not something women should go through while pursing that kind of career, whether they’re human or not.”

Her disposition changed again, trading her snarls for a smile that eventually turned into a dry, wicked chuckle. “But don’t worry. Here comes my favorite part.”

She smoked, “They met one night at Le Nocturne, and they just like, Zinged!”

“Zinged?” Roger tilted his head confusedly.

“They fell in love.”

Roger’s blue eyes changed into hearts, and his ears curled over to form a great, big heart which made Twyla chuckle again. “It was love at first sight. Or should I say, at first fright.”

“Like Snow White and the Prince! Anthony and Cleopatra!” Roger sighed dramatically, trailing off. He clasped his hands together, “Romeo and Juliet!”

“Oh no, no, no, no.” Twyla shook her head, amused. “Not like those two. The love Mom and Dad had for each other was unlike anything you’ve ever seen.” She smiled wistfully, “A love, one born of pure light, shining in the darkness of the universe brighter than a whole galaxy of stars kissing the night sky as they painted their world black and red. Like a beautiful nightmare emerging from a dream’s shadow, and a beautiful dream born from the womb of a nightmare. Their love isn’t something many could comprehend. A love, born through darkest desires and twisted temptations warped by the chains of despair and madness, that’s the kind of love they’ve had for each other.”

She carried on, “But you see, Roger, Mom wasn’t just a prisoned singer. She was also…” she smiled proudly, “a witch.”

Roger’s eyes widened, bewildered. “You…you mean, a real witch?”

“Mm-hmm. While Artino thought he could create a Toon made through the Devil to do his bidding, Mom’s creator, Cassius Lemaitre, thought he could create a horror Toon associated with darkness, temptation and desire, just so his “nightclub” could become popular and he’d gain wealth beyond human imagination.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Tch. Stupid greedy bastard.”

“Anyway, during her imprisonment, Mom started to learn and create spells using grimoires, spellbooks and even her own model sheet Lemaitre thought he could hide from her, knowing that one day she will break her chains and escape that hellhole. But despite her best efforts, Lemaitre was infuriatingly smarter than he’d let on and it got to a point where she had to play pretend and act like she didn’t know who, and what, she really was. And so, she played that game until that night at Le Nocturne and…”

She cast her gaze down, her tale slowly trailing.

“And what?” Roger asked after a moment, minding himself of Twyla’s pace.

The ravenette finally answered. “And the Hellfire Bellum of Testaments. When Mom and Dad began meeting in secret, they found a way to defeat their tormentors and end theirs and other Toons’ suffering. Eventually, they came up with a plan, but Artino and Lemaitre found out, and there was a massive, bloody war between the creators’ allegiance and our parents. Metal and ink tore through flesh, leaving a trail of bodies until the Second City was stained blood-red. The war was endless, until the final night of battle at St. Patrick’s when Mom and Dad lured them into a trap. And they took their sweet time repaying those fuckers for everything they had done to them, let me assure you.”

Her lips stretched in a wide, demonic grin, “Their blood spilt like they spilt my parents’. Their screams were like a wonderful symphony of death, chaos, and divine vengeance. Mom and Dad even broadcasted the whole ordeal like their own little cartoon, to show Chicago that a new era had begun. A bright future for themselves, for each other, and their people. And to show humans that their love and power must never be challenged.”

Tom

“So they fell in love, got hitched, and had a red wedding. It’s amazing what you can do with your creators’ blood if you’re out of paint.” Tom chuckled, finishing his parents’ tale. He spotted Eddie and Jessica who both gave him an uneasy look.

“What? You gotta appreciate the work of art in horror industry!” Tom shrugged his shoulders, defending his parents’ behalf.

“If your folks worked in a horror cartoon studio, this story would be ten-fucking-times less creepy.” Eddie grumbled, his gut clutched with the remnants of distress.

“No sense of humor?” Jessica arched a brow, though she wasn’t not freaked out by the gory details of the twins’ parents’…love story.

They waited for Tom to continue. “So after the war and their creators’ “disappearances”, they took over and became the King and Queen of Chicago. What was once a purgatory had become a safe haven for Toons and their families living in the city, our city. A prosperous kingdom far greater than any other crime boss, even Capone himself. In one night, Hell became Heaven.”

Kinda ironic, hearing that the Devil of Toonkind was a hero, Eddie thought. But for once, he made no comment.

Twyla

“When they discovered they were pregnant, our parents were over the moon. They didn’t think it was possible to birth kids, not that they didn’t try.” She left out the part about interspecies couples struggling to create a child, because of how horrendously biased her science teachers were when she first learned about born-Toon biology. Not only were the other kids cruel to her because she was a hybrid, but the adults made their disgust towards Toons like her and her brother very clear. And some of those adults weren’t humans, they were Toons too. She could remember their words stinging like a thousand bees, calling her names like “ugly ill-bred freak”, “abomination”, and “monster” behind her back.

“Twyla?”

The ravenette wolf was brought back to reality, and she turned to catch Roger’s concerned look. “Oh, right!” she forced herself to smile, but her lips ached from how heavy her smile was. “Now, where was I?”

Tom

“For a moment, everything was perfect.” Tom’s wistful smile darkened to a grimace. “And then that moment ended.”

The air was now thick with tension. Eddie and Jessica could see a chink in the Toon demon’s armor, and a small drip of ink returned. But this time, it was not from anger. He crossed his arms, pressing his claws on his sleeved arms hard enough like he was pushing the pain out of his core while he kept his head down. His face was set, but a tiny wobble shook his lip. The two knew better than to press forward, despite the uncomfortable silence.

After a long moment, Tom finally gathered enough strength to drop the bomb.

“They were murdered.”

Twyla

“What?!” Roger kept his voice soft for Twyla’s sake, but there was no mistake hearing the wave of unimaginable horror. “What happened?”

“At first, we thought it was a fire that killed them.” Twyla admitted; it is true that the twins and everyone else thought that natural fire that potentially burn Toons to death. And, to her understanding, natural fire was the only other element that could cause hazardous harms to Toons besides Dip-injected man-made weapons, and of course, the Dip itself. But Toon deaths caused by fire rarely occurred…unless the fire was infused with that very same, toxic green liquid comprised of Toon-killing elements. “But that’s the main reason why I took chemistry and forensics. I learned that fire can be lethal to Toons if properly mixed with Dip and chemicals used to create fire. The same thing applies to explosive compounds, grenades and even a holy nail if you’re aiming from a safe distance.”

Roger’s heart dropped to his stomach, and so did his ears. “So, i-it was arson? A holy nail? Is…is that how they…?”

He couldn’t bring himself to finish.

Twyla responded with a grim nod, swallowing the angry sorrowful wobble down her throat. “The Holy Nail of Helena killed my parents. And to add salt to our wounds, the castle was hosed with holy water and gas bombs full of bloodroot, a cherubic kind of root that is so potent, it can put even the strongest of demons into a coma. The bastard used enough bloodroot to ensure our family’s entourage of top soldiers wouldn’t survive.”

The Twisted Toon demoness shut her eyes tightly, shoving those memories, those painful nightmares, out of her mind with such brute force. And yet, it was too much. Remembering was too much.

The first gas bomb broke the window, sending the first wave of panic in her little heart. The rising cacophony of screams ringing her ears like blaring alarm bells as her father roared orders, it hurt so much. So much fear and chaos. Her mother got the twins to safety out of the window, and the last thing she ever said to them was, “I love you.”

“Twyla…” Roger whispered, horrified. He couldn’t believe the twins who graciously promised to help him, lost their parents to such a horrific tragedy. “I am so sorry.”

“Thank you for your condolences,” the hybrid Toon demoness thanked him, “But that’s not all what happened.”

She took a long inhale of her cigarette, breathing in as much calm as the tobacco and nicotine can offer for the next part of her story. Smoke escaped her lips, “We…we had an older brother. His name was Darry.”

Tom

“Darry?” Eddie arched a brow, sharing a glance with Jessica. “Who the hell is Darry?”

“A dipshit who was related to us by blood,” Tom’s grimace deepened, his ears lowering from the memory of that bastard. “And…our former guardian.”

“So,” Jessica asked, wary caution in her tone, “It was just the three of you.”

“Unfortunately.” Tom caught an increased look of alarm in their eyes, and he sighed. “Twyla and I may be demons, but he was a monster.”

Twyla

“By the time the fire happened, Darry was already settling on his own and had dreams going to college. I guess I don’t need to tell you what happened after that.”

It took a moment, but when Roger put the pieces together, he nodded solemnly. “He had to give it up to take care of you and Tom.”

“Mm-hm.” Twyla hummed, her heart heavy with a pang of guilt for the trouble she caused him, despite everything that happened. She can still remember watching him brood in the kitchen, the table scattered with bills to pay and holding onto his beloved college flyers as a somber reminder of his crushed dreams. Crushed by her. “Things were fine living with him at first. We lived in a rough part of town, so he had to teach us how to be smart whenever we’re outside and he wasn’t there to protect us.”

“Why wouldn’t he be there with you?” Roger asked, a frown grimacing his usual cheerful face. The eldest brother’s absence didn’t sit well with him.

“He worked a full-time job, and sometimes he’d have to take double shifts. It’s not his fault Chatham’s got some of the worst economies in Chicago.” The Toonz sister responded, shrugging. “And since our shitshow of a school refused to send a bus for us, we had to maneuver our way back home without gettin’ jumped.”

“What?” Roger’s blue eyes flared, “They can’t do that! That’s illegal!”

“Illegal, but not uncommon.” Twyla sighed bitterly, before continuing, “But despite all of that, Darry stuck around to take care of us. I mean, why wouldn’t he? We were all he had left…and he was all we had left.” She trailed off, feeling a great apprehension clutching her chest and anxiety striking her nerves.

Roger sensed the girl’s hesitation and chose wisely to wait until she was ready.

“But…a few years later, he changed.” Taking a deep inhale of tobacco, she breathed out. “My mom’s been around long enough to see what men become when they drink. She said, ‘They think they’re made of stone until they ask for a drink. Give him a shot, and he’ll crumble faster than fragile glass’. I’ve come to learn folks only become one of two things when they’re drunk. Vulnerable prey, or angry beasts. And Darry…”

Tears pricked her eyes. Her voice cracked. “He…”

Roger’s ears lowered further, but his eyes widened in concern. “Twyla?”

The princess didn’t make eye contact with him. Her throat was burning with red-hot pain, and her eyes stung with tears she hid with her hand while an armor-piercing bullet shot her heart. She would never forget the things he said to her, the awful, horrible things he said to her. Even though they were true.

It should have been you. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU!!!!

“I…I only wanted to help him.” Twyla finally spoke, her voice broken with grief. “But that only made him worse.”

Tom

“Darry went downhill fast after that.” The gunslinger crossed his arms. “He started drinking.”

While he was telling his story, the two could only stand there and listen without saying a single word. Unbeknownst to the demon Toon, Eddie was grimly tearing his own ass a new one. He helped a couple of Toons get out of bad situations when their creator or someone they lived with started to get nasty whenever they’d got drunk. He himself was drinking around two Toons, two scared kids, and never once picked up the signs. What the hell was he thinking?

Next to him, Jessica watched Tom with a stoic, grim look. She’s seen it happen to a lot of women. She doesn’t even need to ask him what happened to his brother. She knows exactly what it was like to live with a man consumed by anger and alcohol.

It turns them into beasts.

They have both been very kind to not pressure him, and after a few minutes, the Twisted prince caught up with his story. His face suddenly skewered with rage, and a monstrous growl escaped his throat. Behind him, the walls and floorboards were cast by dark shadows of ink. Eddie’s eyes went wide, immediately recognizing them as the same shadows Twyla’s wrath manifested last night back at Toon Patrol Headquarters. Jessica, on the other hand, was startled by the unsettling sight.

Before she could speak, Tom snarled. “And then that bastard started to take it all out on her. He blamed her for all his grievances, sayin’ shit like it was her fault he couldn’t make it to college, or that it was her fault his apartment turned into a shitshow when he spent all his money on the booze and didn’t pay the goddamn bills. But Twyla, bless her soul, still went out of her way to help him. Or make the burden hurt less, fuckin’ bullshit. She did most of the chores, and even started cookin’ on the stove when she was eight. Eight!”

“But no matter how hard she tried, it was like living with her was such a fuckin’ hassle to him. And he made it his sole mission to make her hurt and suffer for all his pain, not her own.” Fury boiled his ink blood like a hot, angry volcano and he clenched his fists so tightly, his claws pierced the skin of his furry palms hard enough to draw blood. “He said that she deserved the shit she put up with at school, deserved to be kicked around and treated like a fuckin’ joke.”

“But,” Jessica couldn’t help herself any longer, “If things were so bad, why didn’t anyone help you?”

“Because they’re hybrids,” Eddie responded before Tom could, and his voice was low and gruff with cold venom. “That's the thing, ain't it?"

“We tried to get help.” Tom responded, summoning the two back to him. “We tried everything we could. The teachers, the principal, we even called the cops.”

“Keep in mind the cops were the last resort, all right? Despite our parents’ intentions, they led a mafia, and both of them were killers. But we were so frightened, we thought they could help us. I mean, their job is to keep people safe, for God’s sake! Or so we thought.”

“They didn’t listen to you, did they?” his boss asked grimly.

“More like threatened to arrest us if we wasted their time again.” Tom sighed, nodding at the appalled indignance the two responded with. “I know, I know. It’s bad enough they pull this kind of shit to Toons, but hybrid Toons...” He clenched his teeth, “I don’t need to tell you how that went.”

“Oh, that is bullshi—”

Twyla

“Then one night, it got so bad we had to leave.” Twyla said, taking a sip of her glass of water. Her cigarette finally snubbed, and she tried to grab another. But Roger, who had had enough of smelling the smoke, grabbed her small pack and YEETED it out of the window far enough for her not to retrieve. Then he insisted that she’s done smoking and drank her sorrows down with water instead. Twyla tried to protest, only to quickly learn that a serious Roger Rabbit is a scary Roger Rabbit.

Yeah, nope. She ain’t fucking with that. Nuh-uh!

“We were only about thirteen when he came home. It was late past 9:00 when we should’ve already been in bed with the door locked. Tom and I were having a little argument about who’s going to be cooking meals from now on. I told him that I was more than capable of handling the stove, and I’ve done it for five years when Darry slammed the door open. God, he was a huge mess. I smelled whiskey on his breath and saw a look of fury in his eyes. He found out we called the cops on him.”

She continued, noticing the alarmed worry on Roger’s face. “As soon as he saw me, he went off. Nothin’ like his usual outbursts or his weeknight benders. He was royally pissed.”

Royally pissed was an understatement.

You ungrateful, selfish bitch. I took you in. I gave you food and shelter when no one else was gonna save your stupid, sorry ass. You would be dead on the streets if it weren’t for me. I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING, AND THIS IS THE THANKS I GET?!?!

“Tom tried to protect me, like he always does, but Darry grabbed him by the scruff and tossed him out of the kitchen. I was so scared I couldn’t even move. And then, he…” she whimpered, finally letting a few tears roll down her face.

Roger straightened his posture, shocked by how fast she was crumbling. Before he could utter a word, Twyla finally broke down. “It’s all my fault.” she sobbed. It hurt so much. Talking, crying, all of it. Her chest was heavy with the weight of sorrow she tried so hard to bury, her heart was tearing apart with grief and anguish. Her lungs burned painfully, and she couldn’t breathe from all the agony. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve kept them safe. I…”

Fighting his own tears, Roger shook off the horror he was hearing. “Oh, Twyla. Come here.” He carefully stood up from the bed and stretched his arms towards Twyla, spreading them wide open. As she’s rising from her chair however, he seemed to change his mind and decided that Twyla deserves—for once in her life—to have someone else willingly give her affection besides her brother and the others, rather than offer it. “Actually, wait. Stay there, and I’ll come to you. OK?”

Twyla’s amethyst pie-cut eyes grew tenfold in size as Roger dusted his overalls and walked towards her. As soon as she was within his range, he swept her in his gentle, soft arms and held her close to his chest in a comforting manner. If Twyla’s eyes weren’t already wide before, they sure are now.

“It wasn’t your fault, OK? Tom’s not guilty, either.” The rabbit whispered, “You did nothing to deserve it. What happened was not your fault.”

Somewhere deep in her heart, there’s this part of Twisted Twyla Toonz that she keeps under lock and key behind impossibly tall walls of ice. Roger’s kind words—his unconditional kindness—seemed to have helped him burn through Twyla’s walls and reached the very center of her dark, twisted core where the same, scared little girl hid. The more he spoke, the more ice melted…and then she shattered.

A watery sob rippled through her throat as she shut her eyes tightly. Her little nose stung and twitched as she struggled to hold back the tears that continued to build up like a dam. She tried so hard not to cry, but the years of pain, betrayal, and anguish now rushed up to the surface. Her throat tightened and clenched as another sob wracked her entire body, causing her lungs to constrict and spasm in her chest and make her feel like she was drowning.

“It’s gonna be OK, sweetie.” Roger whispered, gently running his gloved fingers through her hair, and holding her close like he was protecting her from all the monsters who hurt her. It’s been so long since an adult provided her comfort. “It’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

The room was silent, save for her soft sobs.

Tom

“What happened after that?”

Tom’s breathing was shaky, heavy from grief or from rage. “He found out we got the cops involved, and he went on another bender. But it was worse than the others. As soon as he came back, shit hit the fan. He started screamin’ his ass off at Twyla, and called her an ‘ungrateful, selfish bitch’. He even said she killed our parents.”

“Excuse me?” Jessica’s eyes burned with fury, clenching her pearly white teeth.

“He fuckin’ said what?” Eddie growled, his voice scorned with rage. His dark eyes flashed like lightning and his teeth bared into a snarl while he was clenching his fists. An angry shudder rolled through his stocky body, and if he were a Toon, steam would be blowing out of his ears.

“It didn’t help that I was runnin’ my mouth, so he literally tossed my ass. I wasn’t havin’ any more of that shit, so I grabbed a lamp and smashed his head, knocking him out cold. After that, we immediately ran to our room and locked the door so we can grab whatever we needed and ditched him for good. We spent the last five years stayin’ with two Monster Toons we call family now, but I knew we couldn’t keep on hiding in the shadows, pickin’ up scraps in the city. So we decided to leave.” Tom revealed his plans, “We needed the money and we had to wait until we turned 18 and graduated, so I came up with a little gig that could get us quick cash.”

“Vigilantism,” Eddie said.

Tom nodded. “Most of our targets were the same bastards who tormented us, so the job was a lot more enjoyable.” He chuckled, “I see why you took the job, too.”

“Yeah. It’s slapstick comedy,” the grizzled detective chuckled, ignoring the icy glare Jessica gave him. If looks could kill, he would be buried six feet under.

“The day finally came, and we got emancipated not too long after that.” Tom’s grimace returned, “But…I made a mistake.”

“What happened?” Jessica asked.

A deep-seeded guilt spurned its roots in Tom’s core. “I…I thought it would be a good idea to go back and grab some more things.”

“What?!”

“Tom!”

“I know, I know,” Tom held his hands up, nodding understandably. “I had no idea what I was thinking. We needed some extra money, and I thought stealing from Darry was the best solution. I cased his apartment and figured out what days he leaves and what time he comes back. But…”

Eddie can already tell where this was going but made no comment.

“Things didn’t go as planned.”

Twyla

“You went back?! Are you crazy?!” Roger exclaimed, gobsmacked with newfound fear.

“Tom was gonna go with or without me, and I didn’t want him to be alone.” Twyla defended her brother. “So I snuck in the bedroom window while he took the other route. I packed up whatever I could find and tried to find Tom. But…Darry found me instead.”

“Oh God, no.” The redheaded Toon rabbit buried his face in his hands, dismayed. He didn’t know how much more he could take of this. But he had to know.

“What…what happened next?”

Twyla’s eyes darted to the left, and Roger could instantly tell there was something she was hiding. Some horrible. And something deep, deep in his gut told him he was not going to like it.

“Well, he…” the young she-wolf chuckled nervously. “Heh, he tried to…. kill me.”

The glass Roger was holding for her slipped out of his grasp, and it shattered. “He…what?”

“Yep. He finally lost it and tried to put me down,” Twyla’s nervous grin dropped when she saw a dangerous flash gleam in his kind, benevolent blue eyes. Uh-oh.

“B-but he didn’t actually kill me!” she waved her hands, shaking her head. “Right? I’m still here, I’m OK, and I’m here to help you. You don’t need to worry about—”

“What did he do?” Roger’s voice was completely devoid of that cute, Southern lisp she once knew. His voice was cold like ice, and each word he spoke was frigid and frosty. It was so cold, Twyla couldn’t help but shiver at how frozen the atmosphere suddenly became. What was most startling was his eyes. His bright, sky-blue eyes turned to a dark, stormy blue and a layer of icy stone hardened his orbs. She had never seen him so angry before since he found out about Jessica, and it frightened her.

“Roger, please stay calm.” She tried.

“What. Did. He. Do?” the rabbit hissed.

“Fuck. He, um….” Twyla gulped, “He strangled me, tried to shoot me with a holy Dip-barreled gun.”

Roger took slow, deep breaths. His expression was calm, if not stoic, but Twyla recoiled seeing the fire flicker in his icy eyes and saw his snow-white fur bristle slightly. He clasped his gloved hands tightly, and she could see his knuckles turn white. After a long, intense moment of unnerving silence, the Toon rabbit spoke in an eerily calm tone. “Please, finish your story.”

He didn’t even have the lisp. Fuck, he’s pissed! The Toon demoness’s pupils shrank and stuttered with a nervous nod. “Uh, s-sure.”

Tom

“I accidentally took a wrong turn and had to choose a different route to get to his bedroom. But when I got there, I heard him screamin’. I ran to the hallway and found him pinnin’ my sister to the ground in a chokehold while he pointed a gun at her face.”

“He tried to kill Twyla?!” both Eddie and Jessica exclaimed in unison, overdone by horrified shock and rage. The young gangster recoiled from the sharp volume of their reactions and the fiery anger in their eyes. He can only imagine how Adam and Echo are going to take this news when the twins find a way to contact them. Tom panicked pretty much on the spot when the two began to let out a cacophony of angry curses and snarls, and frantically flapped his hands to get their attention so they don’t alert the neighbors and call the cops. Or worse, Doom and his goons.

“Guys! Chill the fuck out! We’re bein’ chased by weasels, for Christ’s sake!” Tom hissed, ready to clasp his hands over their mouths if he needed to. Thankfully, the two managed to calm themselves and Tom let out a sigh of relief. Jesus!

“Please tell me you whooped that fucker’s ass,” Jessica exhaled, running a gloved hand through her crimson hair.

“Oh, I did more than that.” he grinned again, but there was a dark mirth in his smile. An aura of apprehension surrounded the detective and the singer, but he didn’t care. “He tried to kill me too, but Twyla pounced on him, and she slashed his throat. I looked him in the eye while he laid there in a puddle of his blood…and I killed him.”

He didn’t wait for whatever they had to say about that and went on. “And I don’t regret it. He betrayed us. He betrayed her. He left us to rot and threw us away like we were nothing! And then he tried to kill her because Mom and Dad DIED trying to protect their kids! To protect us! Funny how family don’t mean shit without love and loyalty, huh?”

The office was silent for a moment, then Tom’s ear picked up the sound of walking heels coming from outside. “I think that’s Dolores. I’ll be right back.”

He left the office and quickly walked down the stairs while straightening his collar and jacket. Fuck, that was an emotional shitstorm. He found Dolores just as she entered the building.

“Tom? Are you all right? Did you find Eddie?” the lady asked, her voice had a little panic. “Your sister told me you were going to look for him, and I just stopped by probate.”

“Yeah, he’s all right. He’s in the office right now.” Tom assured her.

Dolores nodded, then walked past him and ascended upon the stairs. The Toon’s eyes widened from the reminder that Jessica was still there, and he darted after the bartender. “Wait, hold on!” he called out, but she ignored him.

He trailed behind her down the hallway before she suddenly halted at Eddie’s door. Tom caught up…and saw Jessica’s hands on Eddie’s shoulders…..while his pants were down to his ankles.

Ohhhhhhhh shit.

“Dabbing in watercolors, Eddie?” Dolores asked. Her tone was neutral, but her arms crossed so tightly Tom could see the veins pop beneath her creamy skin.

Eddie looked down and picked up what she was assuming. He hastily pulled them up but accidentally bumped into Jessica’s cleavage. “Sorry.” He apologized, giving Dolores a nervous chuckle.

The femme fatale paid no mind and saw herself out. Before she left, she looked over her shoulder. “Goodbye, boys. My offer stands firm. Think about it.” she said and blew a kiss for Eddie and one for Tom. The kisses fluttered like butterflies and each one landed on one of their cheeks with a SMACK.

Dolores watched her stroll her way out of the office, and once she left, the bartender whipped her head back to Eddie. “Well!” she exclaimed, storming over towards the man who Tom figured out had to be her old flame and ripped the kiss off his cheek. “Do you want to tell me what she was doing with her arms around you?!”

“Probably looking for a god place to stick a knife,” Eddie replied sarcastically.

“Come on, Eddie! I caught you with your pants down!” Dolores snapped. She whirled around and stormed off without hearing him.

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