Chapter Text
It wasn’t an easy conversation to have, but Coyote, a canid with an IQ of 207, was certain he’d rise to the challenge. It wasn’t like he’d ever spectacularly failed at anything, after all. He spent a few minutes building himself a copy machine and seven hours writing out a message. Every word had to be perfect.
“To Mr. Avery, Ms. Jones, Mr. Maltese, and Ms. Avery, esq.s, and whomsoever else it may concern,
I hope this missive reaches you in good health and good spirits (although I suppose I will see for myself, seeing as I shall be paw-delivering the epistle). Those to whom I have regrettably failed to make a formal introduction, allow me to do so now: my name is Wile E. Coyote, and I am a genius by trade. I am not a pet, nor am I a public figure, though I have been a basketballer, an underpaid actor, a plaintiff, an inventor — patent pending — and a victim of prolonged corporate malpractice. Pronouns he/him.”
The next part was the hardest to write, and not just because almost every time he wrote the word ‘road-runner’ he had to pause to lick his lips. “In 1965,” he had begun, then scribbled it out. “The Road-Runner and I –” he had also scribbled out. At last he came up with:
“I mentioned my inventions; therein lies the proverbial ‘rub’ — though ‘rubble’ would also be apt. You see, in 1965, I may have taken the phrase ‘hatching a plan’ somewhat too literally.
Let me explain.
After placing some dynamite and a timer into an egg-shaped case and setting the contraption on the roadside for the incomparable (and delectable) Road-Runner to investigate, I watched in great surprise as he began to incubate the genius trap meant to destroy him. Soon, he had hatched a diminutive living creature: an alarm clock with the alert head of a Road-Runner attached by a spring. It – she, I believe – waddled over to me in an endearing, juvenile way, releasing discordant musical tones, and in either excitement or revenge exploded herself, myself, and the rock I had hidden behind into our component parts.”
The next section was a bit of an admission.
“Attempting to forestall a second explosion, once I had recovered, I lightly tapped the clock with a piece of stone; this action created a second explosion which led to the clock’s disappearance.
However, this clock has, as you may have guessed, returned; perhaps due to the ingenuity of my recent traps, the Road-Runner’s admission of some sort of amity for yours truly,”
(Here the Coyote’s drafting paper became wet and was hurriedly wiped)
“Or the societal trend toward revivals of old media properties – or perhaps for no reason whatsoever. Cartoon gods are, after all, often as whimsical as their creations.
All this to say, the Road-Runner and I are, it seems, furred and feathered fathers. At this time, I formally request your advice; not only as my legal associates but as my—if I may be so bold—friends.”
He signed it Wile E. Coyote with a flourish. Then, feeling the letter lacked a certain urgency, he added underneath,
“PLEASE HELP.”
Then he put the letter in the copy machine.
The copy machine promptly exploded, not because Wile E. had done anything wrong in making it, but because that’s what copy machines do. He sighed, shook soot off his fur, and built another one.
One montage later, he was back in the AJM&A legal building, passing out a highly articulate, highly legibly penned letter to everyone at or near a desk. Then he padded to the center of the room, folded his arms behind his back, and waited, eyes skittering from side to side, for reactions to roll in.
He didn’t have to wait long.
“What?!” exclaimed Kevin Avery.
“What?!” exclaimed Paige Avery.
“What?!” exclaimed Sal Maltese.
“Well, it makes sense,” Dottie Jones said somberly. “You and that weird-looking bird are gay, right?”
“Huh?” exclaimed Paige Avery.
“I’m not sure about that, but I could see it!” admitted Kevin Avery.
“What?!?!” exclaimed Sal Maltese.
“WHAT?!?!” exclaimed Bugs Bunny.
Everyone whirled around to face Bugs, who was just wriggling the last of his little lithe body out of the rabbit hole he’d cut into the floor. “Say, why all da shocked mugs?” he asked the row of baffled faces. “Nevah seen a rabbit before?” The lighting changed to a cabaret violet as he slunk into a provocative stance, running a slinky hand over his ears. “Or nevah seen a rabbit dis gorgeous before?”
Wile E. Coyote glared at the long-eared interloper, marched to the nearest wall, and flicked all the lights off.
“Ya ruined da moment!” Bugs complained. Wile E. hit the lights again, bathing everyone in office florescents.
“You know, I kind of liked the purple,” Sal remarked.
“I like dis guy,” Bugs appraised. “Nice to meetcha.”
Wile E. facepawed and inhaled carefully, lengthening and retracting his entire body as he readied himself to address Bugs. He opened his mouth.
“Let’s get down to cases, shall we, little friend?” he began in a low, shockingly aristocratic timbre. “Why don’t you tell me why you’ve arrived at the workplace of Avery, Jones, Maltese, and Avery, esquires — and in recompense, I’ll consider betraying my carnivorous nature and, hmm, postpone eating you.”
Dottie blinked. Sal gaped. Paige gasped aloud. And if Kevin were a cartoon, he would have hit the roof. “You can talk?!” he screeched.
Wile E. opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and flipped up a sign that said SOMETIMES.
“You–” Kevin clapped his hand against his forehead in disbelief and betrayal. “We– this whole time you could’ve–”
Wile E. shook his head so fast it became a blur, whipped a marker from behind his back, and double-underlined SOMETIMES. He flipped it to RARELY, which he forced into Kevin’s face with both hands.
“Rarely?!!”
“Special rules for the rabbit,” Witch Hazel called helpfully from the neighbor room.
Wile E. thought a moment and pulled out a new sign. It was unhelpfully blank. He grimaced and sped to the nearest desk. He grasped scissors and ruffled through a desk, sending paper flakes flying through the air until he’d snipped out a silhouette of himself holding a sign. Next to it he held up a silhouette of Road-Runner, which he replaced with a silhouette of Daffy Duck, then with a silhouette of Foghorn Leghorn, then with —
Paige squinted. “Is that Michael Jordan?”
Wile E. rolled his eyes and nodded a yes, yes, keep up. He bounced his sign-holding silhouette through the air. He then held up a silhouette of Bugs Bunny, flourishing it for emphasis. He tore the sign out of his silhouette’s paper paw, crumpled it (somehow) into the shape of a speech bubble, and set it into the air between himself and Bugs. He held the tableau out to Kevin then Paige, whipping it back and forth from one to the other with a nervous grin.
Kevin and Paige did not grin back.
Wile E. deflated. He held up a sign. IT RELIES ON
The sign put down and up again: MEETING A SET OF CONDITIONS
Flipped: THE FIRST OF WHICH OFTEN IS
“My presence!” Bugs announced. He took a bow. “Ya welcome.” He pivoted on one foot toward Wile E. “Now, was it ya said, doc? Cases? Well, I’m sure dese here lawyers have loads a’ dem!” Canned laughter from nowhere filled the air; Sal jumped a little. “Law foim’s goin’ like gangbustahs!”
Wile E. ignored this. I DON’T TALK, he insisted.
“Why, dough?” Bugs drawled. “Ya missin’ out! I love talkin’.”
“We noticed,” deadpanned Dottie.
ROAD-RUNNER DOESN’T TALK, the Coyote signed, as if this explained everything.
“Aw, you wanna meet ’im on a level playin’ field,” Bugs announced, popping his ankle and clasping his hands together against the side of his face. Wile E. shook his head vigorously, which Bugs ignored. “How sweet. Well, I s’pose it is just the two of ya out in da desert dere. But didn’t I also hear a’ one a’ dese, uh… whaddya call it?” he made a great show of pulling a pocket out of his abdominal fur and rummaging around in it to pull out a sign that said VOW OF SILENCE. “So, Quixote, was it a clevah fiction by some writa’ who wanted you in childrens’ pictures but could only find a li’l puppy-dog actor, or did ya actually take one a’ dese?”
Wile E. smirked and brandished a sign reading IF I HAD, which he dramatically flipped to reveal I COULDN’T TELL YOU.
Bugs’s face fell. “Why not?”
Wile E.grabbed Bugs’s VOW OF SILENCE.
“...Fair enough,” Bugs conceded, giving the Coyote a plucky smile before retrieving the sign and filing it into his stomach. “I guess we’ll nevah know.” He leaned toward Kevin and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, jerking his thumb at Coyote, “He’s a jokestah, this fella. Don’t let the long nose fool ya; he’ll cook ya into a stew.”
Wile E. nodded smugly and held up SO WATCH OUT. He turned in a slow circle so everyone could see.
“You wouldn’t cook us into a stew, would you?” Paige asked, just to be sure.
Wile E. thought about it.
“Humans don’t regenerate,” Sal reminded him. He remembered his sensitivity training. “Uh, not that all cartoons regenerate–”
NO, Wile E. told Paige.
“I would!” Witch Hazel hollered from her desk.
“Thanks,” muttered Sal.
“Thanks,” murmured Dottie with genuine affection.
“You told me you only eat children!” Kevin hollered at the witch. “None of us are children!”
She cackled. “Could’a fooled me!”
“She also eats rabbits,” Bugs pointed out.
“I sure do!”
“...Noted,” said Kevin, who by this point was truly at a loss. “Why… uh.” He composed himself, looking between Coyote (parent?!) and Bugs (intruder?!) and deciding Bugs presented the more immediate threat. “Mr. Bunny–”
“Please, call me Bugs,” Bugs said magnanimously. “‘Your highness’ is also sufficient.” (He pronounced it suff-issi-ent.)
“Bugs,” Kevin said carefully, splaying his hands out a little, “might I ask, uh, why you’re… uh… here?”
Wile E. nodded vigorously and waved his arms around in emphasis.
“Oh, sure! Wanted to ask for your help suin’ da Road-Runner — that’s this fella’s husbird-to-be — about a plagiarised joke. Daffy’s steamin’ mad, see. But,” he stretched his eyes, ears and neck toward Coyote, “what’s dis about a li’l whippersnapper? Ya know,” he mused, a little quieter, “I hoid dere’s only one thing woise than a Martian…”
“A child?” Paige asked.
“Yeeeah, dat was it! Smart goil!” Bugs laughed to himself. “Weeeehll, I wouldn’t want to bother no high-falutin’ folks such as yourselves, and seems you all’s pretty busy, so I can makes myself scarce. But I usually shows up when dere’s dramatic actions, so I’ll be ’spectin to be seein’ you. And,” he nodded toward the Coyote, “it’s always nice to visit an old friend.” He grinned brightly and leapt back into his rabbit hole.
“Thanks for your help with the ACME trial!” Paige called out.
Bugs poked his head out of the hole. “No problem!” he chirped, and vanished again.
Everyone waited for a respectful moment for the Bugsian energy to somewhat disperse (and for the rabbit hole in the floor to vanish).
Then Kevin turned to Wile E., letter clutched tight in hs hand once more. “You said…” his eyes flashed down to the paper, “you think you and the Road-Runner now have… a kid?”
Nervously, Wile E. nodded.
“Well, first..." Kevin sighed, almost-smiling in his wry, tired, affectionate way. "Are you… are you happy about this?”
Nervously, Wile E. nodded.