#there was no continuity there. not even a throwaway mention of the moustache or him being happier or anything. it’s like 8x06 never happened

[aelysalthea]

Wisdom In Words

Summary: Sherwin was quiet. Unobtrusive. The kind of person to duck his head and strive to be overlooked. That was always the way when starting at a new school. Except that this one was different - just barely, and almost indiscernible at first, but apparent nonetheless. And all because of a few passing words.

Rating: T

Tags: Pre-Film, Changing Schools, Muteness, School Life, Messages In Quotes

Chapter 1: Changes

The tolling of a bell could mean a number of things. A beginning. An end. A call to attention. It could be a melody of poignant sound crying a change in routine, or a solemn ode of loss.

A school bell was all of these things in its own way. Regardless of the school, the specific pitch of that bell, and the hour at which it sounded, Sherwin knew that much. He'd had his fair share of experience with a variety of the sort.

The school loomed before him, all grey walls and shuttered windows. Students in navy sweaters and grey slacks slung bags over their shoulders, rising from where they sat upon the modest spread of the school's front lawn. The chatter of voices, laughter, and moans of disgruntlement overrode the ringing residue of the bell's echo.

Sherwin swallowed. Starting anew. Starting anew was… always hard. It had nothing to do with the change in uniforms. It wasn't because of the struggle he would inevitably face with the confusing layout of the school. He was prepared for that – or at least as prepared as he would ever be. Those changes were the same at every single school he'd attended.

It was the people that made it the hardest.

Fingers digging into the strap of his own bag, the satchel bumping his side as he clung to it as he would a lifeline, Sherwin took a deep breath. It didn't help. Breathing, coaxing himself into slow breathing, never really did. If anything, he felt just faintly lightheaded for the fact, and it didn't serve to slow his pounding heart either. So loud, it thundered in his ears. Sherwin perceived that surely, surely someone must hear it.

No one turned towards him, however. No one glanced his way as they bypassed where he stood rooted to the path leading to the front steps of the school. Unfamiliar faces of unfamiliar people who barely spared him a glance but to turn away a moment later and skirt around him.

Sherwin was relieved for that fact. He didn't like being stared at.

It took a herculean effort to unstick his sensible shoes from the path. An even greater effort to start his trudging way towards those steps. Eyes fixed directly ahead didn't stop him from seeing those around him.

 Are they looking? Do they know I'm new? Do they think I'm strange?

How many times had Sherwin been plagued by such thoughts? He didn't know, couldn't remember. They likely wouldn't ever leave him alone, either; most of the time they proved to be valid suspicions. With a tuck of his chin, he picked up his pace and slipped into the flooded halls of the school.

Vinyl floors. Dinghy lockers that were better than some he'd seen but worse than others. Schoolrooms and noticeboards pinned with posters and reminders, a water foundation patterned in a mosaic at its base for all of the colourful gum spotted around the piping. And people. So, so many people.

A bump to the shoulder, a dodge out of the way of a senior, another backpedal to avoid the trail of juniors that hastened past and almost tripped over Sherwin's feet. He scuttled to the side of the hall, clinging to the wall as he made his way down the corridor. He'd seen the map. He'd studied it as soon as the principal had sent his mom a welcome package. Homeroom was around two corners and the third door on the right. Mr Simpson, his teacher was called. Hopefully, Mr Simpson knew to expect him. Even more importantly, it was Sherwin's hope that he didn't draw attention to him.

Sherwin hated when the eyes turned and the focus was drawn. He hated it even more than changing schools itself.

The classroom was barely half full when he stepped inside. Shoulders still hunched, fingers still clinging to his satchel strap, he edged his way around the room of buzzing students, eyeing those around him with a ducked head. These would be his new classmates: the girl with the high, blonde ponytail perched on the edge of a desk, the boy at the window nibbling on an apple, the pair of other boys seated towards the front of the room appearing nothing if not engrossed in the books they were reading. A scattering of them in various states of ease; Sherwin's gaze darted around the room, committing faces to memory even without their names.

It was better to know people. Better to recognise, to be able to tell them apart, to define each from the general crowd of 'new'. That way, at least, he could pretend to be something other than 'new' himself.

The back corner seat was blessedly empty. Sherwin slid into the creaky chair, tucking his satchel under his desk, and hunched upon himself with eyes still studying the room. Plain, simple, all but interchangeable from every other homeroom he'd ever been in, it was nonetheless a necessity to commit every detail to memory.

The desks, in rows of five by six.

The teacher's station, front and to the left of the room and sparsely spread with whiteboard markers and papers.

The pattern of student arrangement, tending not too far to the front – so as to avoid the teacher's attention – and yet not too far to the back, either – for such would be indicative of potential troublemakers.

Except for Sherwin, that was. Apparently there was something about him that bespoke 'not concerning' to each and every teacher he'd ever had. Maybe it was his tendency to sink all but completely under his desk. Maybe the silence that he wore like a protective scarf seemed suggestive of obedience.

The slightly grimy windows.

The stacks of dog-eared textbooks at the back of the room.

The fluorescent lights overhead that whirred so quietly that it was almost inaudible.

And on the board –

Sherwin blinked. The board was wiped clean, as was almost expected of a Monday morning, except for a single line of text in slightly slanted hand written with meticulous straightness. A single line… and it seemed to drown out the rest of the room entirely.

 There is nothing permanent except change.

Underneath, written in the same slanted print, the name Heraclitus sat like a footnote. Sherwin didn't know what it was – a name? The person who'd said the words like a quotation? – but that hardly mattered. It felt like the quote was written entirely for him.

Everything changed for Sherwin. Everything and always. Cities and towns, schools and friends that became less about the friends over time and more simply just the schools. His mom's job and their placement, and the house they stayed at, and the neighbours and rental cars and shopping malls. So much change, and Sherwin had perhaps, maybe just a little bit, hoped that such changes might someday cease.

Maybe he was reading too much into the quote that had likely been left by the teacher only that morning. Maybe the words were simply a throwaway mention of the inevitability of that change, and something to be read, nodded at, and discarded.

It likely wasn't meant to resound so strongly. It likely wasn't meant to place both a heaviness of the inevitability of constant change upon Sherwin's shoulders while at the same time offer a strangely satisfying hand to hold. Nothing would remain the same, and for Sherwin, that likely meant more towns and more schools. But change – that could always be anticipated.

Sherwin stared at the slanted words as the room slowly filled with students. As the boy with the apple crunched idly and the girl with the ponytail kicked her legs where they swung off the edge of her desk. As the boys at the front of the room flicked through their books to the disregard of the rest of the students, and the seats around them scraped upon the ground when filled and the slap of bags dropped at feet picked up frequency.

And Sherwin waited. He only caught a hold of his attention once more when the man who was likely Mr Simpson entered the room.

A tall, heavy-set man, he was balding and wore a pair of wire-framed glasses perched slightly askew atop his nose. The stack of folders he carried under one arm dropped heavily onto his desk as he took himself to the front of the room, but the students before him barely quieted for his presence, though several heads turned and more chairs scraped as they were filled by obliging bodies.

Not until Mr Simpson glanced towards the whiteboard. He absently patted his belly, plucking distractedly at the button-down front of his shirt. Then he turned back to the room, and a smile spread beneath the bristled tufts of his moustache. "A very appropriate way to start this week, I should think," he said, and the murmur of student voices died. "Once again, we appreciate the written words of the wise men of old." A gesture towards the whiteboard behind him, and then Mr Simpson was inclining his head to the room at large. "Thank you for your contribution again, Mr Philosopher."

As though by reflex, a ripple of laughter passed through the room. Practiced laughter, old laughter, the kind of laughter uttered by those who had heard the joke before and yet still found it somewhat amusing. Sherwin glanced briefly around himself, eyes darting towards mouths that murmured words like, "Have you heard of Heraclitus before?" and "He probably got it from one of his books." Someone even snorted with a, "Suck up. Every single day…" that Sherwin almost, almost frowned at.

He didn't really have the time to grow affronted on behalf of someone else, however. Not even someone – a student, it would seem – who seemed to have written the quote directly for him. Instead, his attention snapped towards Mr Simpson again as he continued. "On the note of change, however, we have one such change in our classroom today." The teacher squinted slightly as he cast his gaze around the room.

It scanned.

It passed once, twice – and then it stopped.

Sherwin truly wished he could sink beneath his desk at that point. Change or otherwise, the introduction of the 'new student' into the cohort was one so consistently arising as to be almost predictable.

Please don't, please don't, please don't, Sherwin all but begged in a mental chant. Only to smother a wince when Mr Simpson spoke. "Sherwin, was is? I'd like you all to welcome our newest student to our year."

Mr Simpson smiled at him, but Sherwin hardly noticed. He noticed only for the response it caused when Mr Simpson gestured towards him, warm and welcoming. That warmth was lost before the sea of turning faces; the girl with the ponytail and her friend alongside her with the too-big jumper. The boy who'd long since finished his apple to turn with raised eyebrows and curiosity towards him. Even the two boys with the books twisted in their chairs to regard him; one of them went so far as to lower his book entirely to turn his gaze with mild curiosity.

Sherwin could hear as much as feel his heartbeat in his ears. He could hear, too, his ridiculously overloud breath and hoped – hoped – that no one else heard them both quite so loudly. His eyes darted around the room once more, and he could feel his cheeks redden with the readiness they always did.

The students would likely smirk. They would likely tease. Why wouldn't they? There was nothing quite interesting about a skinny new kid with hair too red and a propensity for blushing in his too pale cheeks. The chanting reprimands beating away inside Sherwin's head were so loud that he almost didn't hear Mr Simpson continue. "Sherwin? Good effort on finding homeroom on time; the corridors can be a little tricky to navigate sometimes." He smiled benignly, then gestured to Sherwin once more. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"

And there it was. The worst possible words to hear. Sherwin only managed to refrain from truly sinking beneath his desk by grasping the sides of his chair so tightly his fingers whitened even paler than they usually were. He hated, hated, hated having the attention drawn to himself. It was almost the worst part of changing schools.

Almost.

Sherwin didn't stand. He didn't introduce himself. With cheeks flaming, chin tucking once more, and doing his best – and thoroughly failing – to ignore the stares of the curious, the dismissive, and the resigned as his fellow students turned to regard him in wait, Sherwin shook his head.

There was a pause, a long pause, after which Mr Simpson finally seemed to realise the futility of his own wait. Then he dropped his gesturing hand back to the front of his shirt and cleared his throat quietly. "Well," he said with false cheer. "Not to worry! Sherwin, welcome to the class. I'm sure everyone will be more than ready to assist you should you need a hand with finding anything. Now, I'll ask for the usual quiet while I just take roll call, if you would…"

Sherwin tuned him out as he sunk forwards until his head nearly rested upon the desk. He'd almost expected it to happen, because it almost, almost always did. It didn't make it any easier to endure, however. He still hated the attention, the introduction, the staring and the unconscious judgement from those around him. To the sound of Mr Simpson's drone, Sherwin sighed and closed his eyes once more.

Two things in Sherwin's life were permanent, it would seem. Change, he'd recently discovered, and perhaps obviously so, was one of them. And the other?

Sherwin hadn't spoken a word to anyone in nearly three years. He doubted that was likely to change, either.

A/N: I have every intention of continuing this story, have already finished the first draft, and would absolutely love to know your thoughts! This is such a wonderful Short Film and it deserves all of the love and support in the world. A thousand Kudos to Beth and Esteban for their incredible work!

If you’d like to follow this story, please take a look at it on AO3 here!

[trevorbailey61]

Sparks

O2 Institute, Birmingham

Sunday 24th September 2017

Friday morning - throughout the rest of the week, the topic of conversation was open. True, during the season, Monday would gain structure as we reflected on the football from the previous weekend, analysing how what seemed like a home banker against Queens Park Rangers had gone so horribly wrong. From the beginning of May, however, Monday would be like any other day, open to the ebbs and flows of the big wide world outside the small one in which we lived. Friday was different, winter, summer there was only ever one topic of conversation and that was Top of the Pops. It seems incredible now to think that a 30 minute programme of either promotional films or artists miming to their records could be so influential but for its prime time slot on a Thursday evening, the whole family would sit around the telly and absorb what was generally youth culture. With the only criteria for an appearance being to have sold a lot of records, there was the occasional act that our parents would appreciate, Englebert Humperdinck, Lena Martell, the Band of the Royal Dragoon Scots Guards, but mostly it was ours and we were indulged this weekly fix so that we could sound knowledgeable the following morning. The late nights desperately trying coax something listenable from Radio Luxembourg may have given us the music but TOTP added the visuals and our discussions were as much about what we had seen as heard.

For the artists, TOTP was a huge break; massively increasing their potential audience such that a successful appearance would lead to a surge in sales that drove the record further up the charts. The pressure was on, in just two or three minutes they had to make a big enough impact to be the subject of those Friday morning discussions. Many were young, very young in some cases and in the days before they were all stage school graduates, knew little about how to project themselves through a lens. Performing directly to the camera made you look desperate, trying to ignore it made it look as if you didn’t care and soon lost those potential sales. The ones remembered now are those who managed to get it right but the repeats of full shows shown on BBC4 show how many didn’t, excruciatingly bad performances that meant the chance had been lost and the audience would remain selective.

Occasionally, an act so out there would appear that it was difficult to quite believe what you were seeing. “Did you watch Top of the Pops?” we would excitedly ask each other the following morning as we sought confirmation that we had actually seen what we thought we had. These would often draw the most negative comments from our parents which, of course, made them all the more appealing to us. The appearance of Sparks on the show was one of those transformative experiences; once you had entered their world there was no way of leaving it. The singer, full on gender blurring glam rock with a thick main of black curly hair and a gold scarf tied loosely round his neck, was a whirl of hyperactivity even within the tight constraints of the stage. Peering through the camera rather than at it, his penetrating gaze drew you into the weird falsetto of his voice. Even his flamboyant charisma, however, was upstaged by the figure sitting alongside him. His fingers moved over the keys as his eyes darted from one side to the other, seemingly in continuous disapproval of the exuberance at his side. The most provocative part, however, was the small moustache that rested on his upper lip, the thing that, apparently led John Lennon to phone up Ringo Star to exclaim, “It’s Hitler with Marc Bolan”. The parts had been rehearsed and developed for years but now they had also had a killer song. Even though the impression made by “This Town Ain’t Big Enough for Both of Us” has lasted for over forty years, it remains a song that is remarkably difficult to sing along to. The rollercoaster changes in pitch, awkward tonal variations and verses stuffed with words make it difficult to grasp, however many times you hear it. Despite the number of times I have listened to it, I still get little further than “Zoo time is she and you time” before my stuttering karaoke ends.

Russell Mael has no such problems. He will celebrate his 69th during this tour but he retains both the energy and the voice of his younger self. As he sings “I ain’t going to leave”, he raises his right arm in a gesture of defiance; the skin may hang a little more loosely from his frame, the lines on his face are harder to conceal but towards the end of a set in which he has worked harder than many less than half his age, he still has enough left for this intoxicating anthem to youthful swagger. One of the many remarkable things is that unlike many of his peers, his hold on those dense, complex and idiosyncratic lyrics is so secure he manages the whole set without the need of a single prompt. We last saw the Mael brothers about five years ago on the “Two Hands, One Mouth” tour where Ron’s keyboards provided the only accompaniment to his brother’s vocals. This time they have arrived with a five piece backing band so that they can recreate the glam rock stomp of their early years. They fizz through the strange vocal variations of “Propaganda” before unleashing a fearsome “At Home, At Work, At Play”, louder and with an intensity that it has rarely seen before. Shimmering strings and a steady disco beat gave a wondrous setting for the regret of “When Do I Get to Sing My Way” and for artists so seeped in irony, “Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth”, makes its point clearly and directly, its relevance now sadly greater than when it was recorded. The irony returns for “Dick Around”, a compellingly arranged and dramatic overture to indolence and the disco thrill of “The Number 1 Song in  Heaven” is as infectious as ever, also providing the opportunity for Ron to step out from behind his keyboards, roll up his sleeves and indulge in his one moment of what I suppose we now ought to call grandad dancing. After throwing everything at  “This Town Ain’t Big Enough for Both of Us”, they take things down a little for “Hospitality on Parade” and the first encore “Johnny Delusional”, a product of their recent collaboration with Franz Ferdinand. The wild glam rock nostalgia returns, however, for “Amateur Hour”, a final moment of clever infectious pop where the thrill is as great as ever.

The point of the “Two Hands, One Mouth” tour was to reflect on their long career; it began with an overture that consisted of their signature melodies and the only new song included formed the title for the enterprise. This time, however, there is a new album, their 23rd, and with arch, witty lyrics, stomping beats and Russell’s still haunting falsetto, “Hippopotamus” is one of their best. The songs have already made their mark; despite its recent release, they are already familiar and are greeted by the audience with the same wild enthusiasm as the hits from all those years ago. Starting with “What the Hell is it This Time”, the urgent synthesised strings take us immediately into the mind of God, not the omnipotent and vengeful God of the Bible but one who in old age can no longer disguise his irritation at the petty things people bother him with; “My girl has left; My dog has left; I’ve cracked up my car” and “His plate is filled with famine and with clean wholesome air; If Arsenal wins; He really don’t care” which is rapidly becoming one of my favourite lines in any song. Russell’s energetic performance may be his way of arresting his own drift towards becoming an elderly pop statesman but age forms the theme that unites many of the songs on “Hippopotamus”. Even the apparently random word association of the title track, the first song as far as I know to mention “Titus Andronicus”, can be seen as a reflection on the confusion and declining short term memory of age; “How did it get there? How did it get there? How did it get there? I don't know”. “Missionary Position” covers how the thrill of making love is lost through routine and familiarity whilst the playful “I Wish You Were Fun” takes this further to explore how even those things we once liked about another person can be lost over the years. With “Édith Piaf (Said It Better Than Me)” they return to the same theme as “When Do I Get to Sing My Way” but whilst then the singer could still aspire to become the torch singer, now he knows that he will never achieve that level of emotional clarity; “Live fast and die young, live fast and die young, live fast and die young; Too late for that, too late for that”. The most haunting song, however, is the one that at first seems the most throwaway. Introducing the song, Russell sets the scene by starting a story that he is unable to finish as he can’t remember what he was saying. For once, the band are left in the shadows at the back of the stage and Russel’s tender vocal is accompanied only by Ron’s piano. The effect is to focus the attention onto the words, an insightful account into the onset of dementia, a gradual withdraw of the person from the world around the. It emphasises that their unorthodox and at times just plain weird approach to songwriting always had a serious intent.

The last time we saw Sparks was at the same venue and arriving just after the doors had opened, there were few others around so that we were able to find a place close to the stage. This time was different; walking through Digbeth at about 6:30 we could see that a lengthy queue had already formed, the interest and excitement palpable as we took our places. Whilst there are a few younger people around us, the majority of the audience are of an age and a recent appearance on Newsnight together with the release of a new album has both helped to remind people that they still exist and also that they still make fascinating music. A repeated “Home; My Baby’s Taking Me Home”’ forms one of the songs heard towards the end of the set but whilst it is stretching things to view this as some sort of homecoming, the time they spent in the UK in the early 70s did help to shape their music and introduce them to an audience that understood it. Early on, Russell mentions that Birmingham was the home of Muff Winwood, the producer who helped to create the sound that was so startling on that ToTP appearance all those years ago. If this was to help him engage with the audience, however, he didn’t really need to, they were there from the moment they walked on stage leaving the brothers both surprised and moved by the warmth of the reaction. There is really no one else quite like them, a masterclass that shows that they remain as intriguing and relevant as ever.

[josephstoontown]

Fox Hunt, Ch. I

Chapter I of "Fox Hunt," a Joseph's ToonTown story. (Originally one-half of a one-part story of the same name.)

Ten days later…

Word count: 4,228 – Character count: 24,603 Originally written: December 18th - 19th, 2016 Slightly revised: January 18th, 2017 Revised further: August 30th, 2017

Even when left to pick up the pieces of a shattered heart, some 'toons just can’t leave things as they are.

Winnie Woodpecker, Wally Walrus, Woody Woodpecker, The Woody Woodpecker Show, and related characters and properties created by and © Walter Lantz Productions Dot Warner, Animaniacs, and related characters and properties created by and © Warner Bros. Animation Snap White, ChalkZone, and related characters and properties created by Bill Burnett and Larry Huber and © Viacom Media Networks

[ ↶ Prev. Story | ← Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter → | Next Story ↷ ]

    ToonTown.  A fast-paced, bouncy sort of town located south of Los Angeles and full of some of the strangest people you’d ever meet.  Some would call ToonTown “wacky,” some would call it “silly,” but the ‘toons who lived there just had one word for it: “Home.”

    On a particular day, a well-known, redheaded woodpecker by the name of Winnie had decided to stay at home and watch cartoons – her own, to be specific.  From her first appearance as a throwaway character in the early Woody Woodpecker shorts to her last appearance as a recurring character in The Woody Woodpecker Show in 2002… it was a relatively short task for her to watch every single cartoon she’d ever been in.  But, something was bothering her… and, it bothered her enough to make her watch the cartoons several times.

    “Whee-ney,” called a voice as she watched “Everybody’s a Critic,” an episode from 2001.  “What are hew do-ing?”     “Research!” was her immediate response.  Indeed, a notepad rested in one of her gloved hands and a pen was in the other as she watched that episode intently for the 17th time total.     “Hew’ve been wat-ching for a loong time now,” the voice called again.  “Maybe hew should take a break?”     “Not until I figure this out…”     “Fi-gure what out?”     Winnie paused the cartoon and turned to face the owner of the other voice.  She had a concerned scowl on her face and her eyes were a bit bloodshot – likely from staring at the screen for so long.  She also looked pretty tired…

    “I need to figure out when I lost my stuff, Wally!” she explained.     “Lost yoour stuff?” the walrus asked, a confused look showing on his face.  “I don’t under-staand.”     “Neither do I…” the woodpecker said as she turned back to the cartoon.  “I mean, look at this gag where accidentally threw that bowl of salty soup on your head!”     “Yees.  Veery fuunny,” Wally said with a snort.  “Whee-ney, hew’ve been hog-ging the com-pu-ter all day.  I need tew check my e-maail…”     “The timing…” Winnie mused, ignoring the walrus.  “The execution…!  This is funny!”     The pear-shaped man shifted his large moustache from side-to-side, standing with crossed arms.  He was getting annoyed…     “I know it’s been a while, but… is it true?  When did I stop being so funny…?” she asked no one, in particular.  “When did I lose my stuff?”     “Wait…”  Wally gave a blink.  “Is that what this is all a-bout?”     “Well, yeah!” Winnie said, as if it should have been obvious.     “Whee-ney…  Why do hew care if you’re stiill fu-nny?  Neeither of us work in the en-ter-taain-ment biz-ness a-ny-more.”     “Because!” she exclaimed as she slammed her hands down on the desk, dropping her pen and pad.  “I know… I absolutely know… that I’ve still got it!”     “That’s niice and aall, but…”

    The bird spun around in the office chair, fully facing Wally for a second time.     “And, I want to know why he said I didn’t!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up.     “What?  Whoo?”  The walrus scratched his head.  “Woo-dee?”     “Joseph!” she half-shouted as she hopped out of the chair.     “Whoo?”  Wally paused…  “Oh, hew mean that threee-deee fox?”     “Yeah!  Who did you think I meant?”     “Woo-dee,” he answered honestly.  “Un-tiil hew said ‘Joo-seph.”

    “I just… don’t… understand…” Winnie mused as she looked down with a troubled expression.  “Why… why would he say something so… so mean, to me?  Why would he question my credentials as a ‘toon?  How could anyone be so cruel…?”     “May-bee he was juust ha-viing a baad daay,” Wally offered.  “Why dew hew caare, aanyway?”     Winnie looked back up with a frown…     “Because I thought… I thought…”  She gave a sniffle as she quietly whispered, “I thought he liked me…”     “Theere theere,” Wally said as he knelt down.  He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing it under her moistening eyes.  “Wee’ll have noone of that, noow.”     The lady gave a blink, looking up at the taller, moustachioed man.  She still looked confused and upset… but, she was attentive, as he continued to speak.

    “Hew’ve been a-roound for loong eenough to knoow that not eeveryone is go-ing to laaugh at your coo-medy.  Not eeveryone haas the same seense of huu-mor as hew.  The woorld would be a veery boo-ring place if they did.  But, if this Joo-seph fox deed liike hew aand he toold hew that hew weren’t fuu-nny, then he was either bee-ing hoonest or hee wus haa-ving a baad daay.  Eeither way, I would not taake it to heart.  There will aalways be cree-tics out there no matter whaat hew do or no matter whaat hew say… but, as the old saa-ying goes… ‘O-pi-ni-ons are liike stin-kee breath: E-ve-ry-one gets eet, soometimes, but no-body waants eet.’”

    For several moments, all Winnie could do was stare up at the bulbous-nosed walrus smiling her way.  He was really doing his best to make her feel better.  However…     “I… don’t think that’s how that saying goes, Wally.”     “Eet’s noot?”  Wally looked genuinely surprised.     “No, but…”  She smiled.  “I think I get the idea.”     “Ah!  Good, good!”     Wally slowly rose up, getting off his knee with a few audibly cracks.     “Ah, thee old, graay waal-rus,” he commented.  “He ain’t what hee h’used to be.”     “I guess not!” Winnie giggled.  “But, you know what he is?”     “Wut?”     The woodpecker wrapped her arms around the taller form’s round belly.     “He’s a mighty good friend.”     “Ah… hew flaa-tter me,” was his reply as he ruffled her bangs.

    “And, you know what else?”     “Wut?”     Winnie gave a confident to her friend.     “I’m going to go find that stupid fox and get some answers!”     The walrus tilted his head.  “Ree-lly?”     “Yeah!”     The woodpecker’s stomach gave a sudden, very loud rumble.     “Um… after I make a sandwich, that is.”     “You’re go-ing out too-night?” he asked.     “‘Tonight?’” was Winnie’s confused reply.  “But, it’s only…”     A glance at a nearby wall clock caused her eyes to shoot open wide.     “Ten o’clock?!  How?!”     “Hew’ve been waatching caar-toons aall daay…” Wally said as he waddled over to the computer chair and sat down.  “I’ve been paa-tiently waaiting foor hoours, now.”     “I… I’m sorry, Wally!” she apologized with a frown.  “I just got so caught up in watching my old cartoons and trying to figure out where I lost my stuff that I–”     “Eet’s fiine, kee-do,” he replied, cutting her off.  “Wheen Faarmville has a doouble-gaains weekend… I, too, lose traack of tiime.”     “I should get something to eat and head to bed!  I have work tomorrow!”     “Proo-bably,” the walrus said as he began to check his e-mail.     “Um… thanks for the pep talk, Wally!  I’ll see you tomorrow!”     “Good niight, Whee-ney.”

    It didn’t take long for Winnie to whip up a sandwich for herself – as well as one for Wally since he’d been so nice – and, even less time to eat it.  Soon enough, she was prepared and tucked into her bed for the night.     I hope things go well tomorrow, she thought as she started to doze off.  I’d hate to think that Joseph is really that cruel…  He seemed so sweet!  Not to mention warm and cuddly…     She mentally giggled to herself before frowning.     I don’t want to lose a friend like him over something like this…  Maybe he’s really sorry…     And, on that thought, she finally let herself fall asleep.

    The next day, work was thankfully pretty slow.  Most of the cases Winnie had to deal with in Warner General Hospital were relatively minor, ranging from simple household accidents to more ‘toon-specific incidents.  One such case happened when a slapstick ‘toon tried to eat an entire watermelon in one go.  Everything turned out fine, though, when the doctor took a mallet to his head, causing the melon to shatter and making it considerably easier to swallow.  Such was the sort of thing Winnie had to deal with at her job…

    “I’m heading out for the day, Dot!”     What looked to be a black-and-white puppy girl with a red nose gave a nod as she typed something into a computer terminal.     “You’re all clocked-out!” she said in an energetic voice.  “Have a good one, Winnie!”     I always did like her, Winnie thought to herself as she walked from the front of the building and out into the parking lot.  Her brothers, though…

    Once Winnie was buckled into her compact convertible car, she adjusted her rear-view mirror, turned the ignition, and was off.  Rather than head straight home, though, she had somewhere else she needed to be.     I really wish I knew his work schedule, better… she thought as she drove along the road leading toward the Universal District.  But, if I remember right, he only works half-a-day at the diner… so, he should be home!     As Winnie drove through familiar streets, she began to wonder…     What should I say, to him?  What sort of questions should?  Should I be straightforward… or, should I skirt around the issues?  Should I apologize for what I said to him?     She briefly paused to consider that.     I’ll see what he has to say, first…

    After a few minutes of driving, Winnie had arrived at the parking lot of the Rubber Arms apartment complex.  She got out of her car, taking a moment to adjust her red skirt and make sure all her feathers were in-order.     Wait…  Why am I straightening myself up? she suddenly thought.  This isn’t a social call…  I’m here with a purpose!     Still, she couldn’t help but give herself a quick look in the side mirror, just to make sure she didn’t have anything on her beak or in her bangs.  With herself sorted, she marched up to the front door of the apartment complex and entered.

    The place looked the same as it ever did, she noted.  The mail room sat to her right and a set of stairs sat some distance ahead, leading to the next floor.  A brief look in the mail room told her that it, too, had remained unchanged since her last visit.  No one seemed to be there, at that time, but she figured she should check just in case.

    There were still some balled-up papers lying on the floor, mostly surrounding an overflowing trash can.  The pen-holder was still empty, the pen and its chain missing for as long as she could remember.  And, of course, the mailboxes remained looking spiffy and clean against the far wall with a large outbox sitting in the middle of them all.     I wonder what they do when packages get sent here? she briefly wondered before taking her leave and starting her trek up to the third floor.

    By the time Winnie had climbed two floors up, she started to feel a little uneasy…  There were butterflies in her stomach and her hands had turned cold under her gloves.  She really wasn’t sure why… but, she was starting to feel really nervous about the visit…     Worst-case scenario, she started to tell herself, Joseph turns out to be a big jerk and I end up never talking to or seeing him, ever again… just like I said…  Oh, why did I tell him that…?     She nervously swallowed, wringing her hands as she walked up to a specific door.     Inversely, best-case scenario, she continued to think, I get some straight answers out of the guy and we go back to being friends!     She hesitated, staring at the plate on the door which read “3C.”     Hopefully… she thought as she closed her eyes and started to knock, that’s what will end up happening…  Oh, I hope he’s not too mad to talk to me like a rational adult…

    Winnie stood there for a while, waiting.  She waited… and, waited… and, waited even more.  She must have waited there for a good minute before she decided to knock again.     Come on…  You’re supposed to be home, right now… she internally muttered.  Don’t tell me I wasted my time, coming over here…     Again, she waited… though only for a handful of seconds.     Is he… ignoring me? she suddenly thought.  How would he even know it was me?  Did he see my car pull up?     “Joseph?” she called as she rapped a little louder.  “Are you in there?  It’s me, Winnie…”     Still, there was no answer.     “I want to talk to you!” she said in a raised voice.  “Open up!”     Not a peep could be heard from behind the door.     What is going on?  I know for a fact he’s home!  He has to be!     “Joseph!” she half-shouted, impatiently pounding on the door.  “Open the door this instant!”     “Hey-hey-hey, what th’ heck’s goin’ on out here?!”

    Winnie gave a blink and turned toward the other end of the hallway.  She had to do a double-take as what looked to be a blue-and-white chalk drawing, standing a bit shorter than herself, rapidly walked toward her from apartment 3B.     At a glance, he looked like he could have been a superhero of some sort, wearing a blue bandanna with eyeholes over his head as well as matching gloves, shorts, and boots.  He also wore what looked to be either a neckerchief, scarf, or possibly a cape – though, it must have been heavily-starched since it pointed out like a lightning bolt.  He also seemed to move at a slower, more jittery frame rate, than her… almost as if half his keyframes were missing.

    “What’s all th’ mess out here, miss?!” he demanded in his tough-guy accent, pointing one… fist, apparently, toward the taller bird’s beak.     Does he not have fingers? she internally wondered before speaking.     “Um…  I-I’m sorry,” she offered as an apology, “but, I–”     “Do you realize what time it is?!”     “Erm…”     The bird nudged her left glove up enough to reveal a charming-looking real-world watch.     “It’s… 5:14 PM…?”     “Right’o, bird’o!” the blue figure said, pointing his hand at her, again.  “Some people are tryin’ t’ relax after a hard day’a work!  So, if you’d kindly shut your loud beak and–”     “Now, just a minute, buster!”  Winnie scowled, giving the shorter figure a dirty look.  “Who do you think you are, to be talking to me, like that?”     “Oh, excuse me!  Allow me to introduce myself!”     The figure graciously bowed to the female.     “‘Snap’ is the name, adventure is the game!  Normally, anyway…  Right now, though, I just wanna kick back ‘n relax whilst I watch a movie!”     He crossed his arms, giving an angry look of his own.     “But, some loudmouth bird-brain keeps squawkin’ at the neighbor, fer some reason!”

    Winnie couldn’t believe how incredibly rude the little ‘toon was being!  But, even so… he did have a point, she thought.  Maybe she had been making a little too much noise…     “Listen…”  She paused, biting her tongue to keep herself from insulting him.  “Snap…”     “That’s Mister Snap, to you, toots!”     She scowled, again, finding herself rapidly losing patience…  That rude little “adventurer” didn’t really seem worth her time, considering the way he kept talking down to her…     “Fine… Mister Snap…” she started, again.  “I was just trying to get my… ‘friend’s’ attention and–”     “Lady, you could get the entire building’s attention, with the way you were yowlin’!”     “Alright, you little troll!” the lady exclaimed.  “I’ve think I’ve had just about enough of your abuse!”     Snap pointed a hand her way, yet again… something which was really starting to get under her feathers…     “You started it, lady, with yer yellin’ ’n poundin’!”     “If you point that thing at me one more time…”     Snap gave a smirk.  He withdrew his hand… and…     “Point!”     Put it right back in her face!

    Winnie went bright-red with rage.  She had never met someone so rude… so immature… so absolutely infuriating, before.  And… she was tired of taking his flack!

    “You rude little hobgoblin!” she yelled, getting in Snap’s face.  “If you’d just come out and politely asked me to simmer-down, I would have gone on my merry way, but oooh-ho-ho no!  You just had to shuffle yourself out here, get in my face, call me names, and push my buttons, didn’t you?!”     “H-hoi polloi, lady!” was Snap’s startled reply as he backed away.  “I was just–”     “You were just butting into my personal business?  Is that it?  I was already upset from being ignored by the person in that apartment –” she pointed to room 3C “– but, that wasn’t good enough for you, was it?  You had to come out here and attack me instead of being nice and asking me what I was doing!  Well, aren’t you glad you did?!”

    Snap quickly found himself pinned up against the archway near the stairs.  We wore a terrified look on his mask-covered face as the little, redheaded woodpecker tore him a new one with her words, alone.  The resident of room 3A, curious as to what all the noise was, had peeked out their door… but, they didn’t dare say anything, just letting the situation play itself out…

    “Why don’t you just go back to your little apartment and watch your little movie!” Winnie shouted at the curled-up ‘toon.  “Or, would you rather keep ruffling my feathers?!”     “N… no, ma’am…!” was all Snap could say.     “Well, then?”  She leaned back, pointing to the door of apartment 3B.  “Go on!”     “Y-yes, ma’am…!”

    The woodpecker watched as Snap scurried back into his apartment.  She could hear him lock the door behind him, as he did.  Suddenly… her attention turned toward the resident of 3A.     “What are you looking at?!” she shouted, causing the spectator to immediately close and lock their door, as well.     “I thought as much!” Winnie said with a nod.  “Now then…  I… I…”     With no one to level her anger at, the bird started to realize… she’d really made a spectacle of herself, just then.  The entire complex probably had heard her, then, just like Snap had said.  Bearing that in mind, she came to a conclusion…     “I… should probably leave.”

    The woodpecker rapidly descended the stairs, zipping down to the second floor… but, when she’d reached the first floor’s stairs, she found her progress impeded by something…     “Gyah…!”     Or, rather, someone!  The two quickly found themselves tumbling down half a flight of stairs, together.

    “Hey,” called a familiar voice once they’d landed.  “What’s the big idea, you…  Oh!”     “Oh…”  Winnie looked up with a bashful grin.  “Hello, Woody…”     The male woodpecker stared at his girlfriend, wearing a confused look as she lay sprawled atop him, rubbing her head.     “Gee, I was kinda hopin’ t’ run into you!”  Woody gave a grin.  “But, not like this!”     “Yeah, sorry, I…”  She paused.  “I was in a hurry, and–”     “Yeah, I figured!” the male interrupted.  “Where’s th’ fire, babe?”     “I kinda… made a fool of myself upstairs, and–”     “Was that you shriekin’…?”  He tilted his head.  “What was all that noise about?  And, what are ya even doin’ here, in th’ first place?  Come t’ see li’l ol’ me?”     “Weeell…”

    Winnie and Woody sat on the lowest step of the first floor stairs, the former telling the latter about why she’d actually come there and what had happened upstairs.  By the end of her short tale, Woody had the biggest smirk on his face…     “Babe, ya really need t’ work on that temper of yours!” he teased, giving her a nudge.     “I know, I know…” she said with a look of shame.  “But, I can’t stand it when people just… disrespect me, like that!  Especially when there’s just no reason for it!”     “Eh, Snap’s like that,” Woody said as he drew a cigarette from his chest pocket.  “That’s why I don’t talk with him much!”     “Woody…”     The male tilted his head, noting the annoyed look on his girlfriend’s face.     “Oh, oh right!” he said as he realized what he was doing.  “No smokin’ in th’ stairwell!”     “No…” she said as she took his unlit cigarette and stuck it back into his pocket.  “No smoking in the presence of a lady, silly…”     “There’s a lady present…?”     The two grinned at each other… then, they snuggled into each other’s arms, sharing a warm hug and a laugh.

    “So… you came over here straight from work?” Woody asked after breaking the hug.     “I did.”     “It’d be great if it was t’ see me!  But, Winnie, didn’t I tell ya?”     The female tilted her head.     “I kicked that fox’s tail outta my apartment days ago!  He’s long gone!”     She blanched upon hearing that.  “What…?”     “Yeah!”  Woody smiled.  “Anyone who makes my gal cry ain’t no friend’a mine!  So, I got rid’a that rude dude faster than you could say ‘Jimmy cracked corn and I don’t care!’”     Winnie gave a blank stare before speaking again.     “Do you know where he went?” she asked.     “Don’t know…”  Woody gave a shrug.  “Don’t care!”     “Woody!”     He jolted as he heard his girlfriend raise her voice.     “I need to know where he is!” she exclaimed.     For some reason… that made Woody narrow his eyes.

    “Whhyyy…?” was his suspicious response.     “Because, I want to ask him some questions!”     “Well… you’re fresh outta luck, on that one.”     Woody retrieved the cigarette from before and lit it, despite the scowl he got.  He then took a short puff-and-blow before looking back at his annoyed girlfriend.     “He ain’t showed up t’ work, lately.  Ain’t seen hide ‘r hair of that fleabag since I threw ‘im out.  He ain’t wanted ‘round here… or at Joe’s!”     Winnie gave another blink, blankly staring a second time as Woody took a long drag of his cigarette.  She couldn’t believe it…     “You mean… he’s gone?” she said in a weak voice.     “Like I said…” he answered, “don’t know, don’t care.”

    Once again, all Winnie could do was stare.  However, her focus had shifted, her head turning toward the bottom of the stairwell.  Her hands rested between her legs as she quietly sat and thought, her mind starting to wonder where Joseph could have gone… where he might be…  Her thoughts then turned to the question of whether or not she would ever see him again…

    “I’ve made a horrible mistake…” she audibly realized.     “Look at it this way, Winnie…  With that jerk outta the apartment, we can finally spend some quality time, together!” Woody offered.     “Oh, so, he was the reason you’ve been ignoring me.”     “What?”     The man leaned back as his girlfriend shot him a sharp glare.  He seemed genuinely startled by the sudden look…     “W… Winnie…?”  He gave a nervous chuckle and an uneven smile.  “Wh… what’s up?”     Winnie said as she got to her feet, then.     “I’m going to go find him…”     “Wait, what?”  Woody gave a confused blink.  “Why…?”     “I told you…  I have questions for him…”

    Woody was the one who was speechless, then…  His girlfriend had just walked right out the door, seemingly bent on finding the person who, not too long ago, broke her heart.  It didn’t make any sense to him.  Not in the slightest.  But, for some reason…     “H-hey, hey, hey!  Wait up!”     He decided to help her.

    “It’s probably better if we split up, for now,” Winnie said when she noticed Woody heading toward her car.  “Do you have your cell phone?”     “Yeah…  But, why–”     “We can cover more ground, that way,” she explained.     “Oh…  Yeah, that makes sense.”  The male paused…  “Ya know, he might not even be in ToonTown anymore, though!”     “That’s why my first stop’s going to be the bus station,” was her reply.  “Even with all the unique ‘toons in this town, I’m sure they’d remember a fox who looked like Tails.”     “Tails?” Woody tilted his head.     “Yeah, Tails.”  She gestured to him with one gloved hand.  “From Sonic the Hedgehog?”     “That’s what it was!”  Woody snapped his finger.  “That’s who he reminded me of!”     Winnie was the one to tilt her head, then.     “Ya know, that’s pretty funny!  I think th’ day we got our jobs at Joe’s, some guy called him ‘Giant Tails.’  Dang… can’t believe I forgot he looks like that fox kid!”     “Well… you’re not really a gamer,” the female woodpecker rationalized.  “Plus, I don’t think you watch modern cartoons.  Do you?”     “Naaah…” was Woody’s reply.  “Those 3D ‘toons are all-flash ‘n no-substance!  Where’s th’ style?  Where’s th’ imagination?”     “Well, I think Hotel Transylvania made a good attempt at bringing a little squash-and-stretch to 3D cartoons,” Winnie said with a smile.     “Mm… never seen it.  Looked dumb.”     “I’m sure some people have said the exact same thing about our cartoons…” she teased.     “Whaaat?”  The male bird scoffed.  “No way, babe!  Our wacky antics are timeless!  There ain’t no one out there who hates a Woody Woodpecker cartoon!”     Winnie offered a smile to her boyfriend as he gave one of his trademark “pecking laughs.”  While she didn’t agree with his opinion, she couldn’t help but be amused.

    “In any case,” she said after a moment, “we should get going.  The longer we wait around, the farther away he might be.”     “Or, maybe he’s been sittin’ under our noses this whole time!”     “That’s not likely…”  She offered a grin.  “But, it’s certainly optimistic.”     “Actually, I just said that so I wouldn’t have to go search for the big lunkhead.”     Her grin became a smirk, then.     “Go on, Woody…  I’ll keep in contact.”

    With that, the two split off to their individual cars and headed out in an attempt to find the errant fox.