Chapter Text
1945
The toon could hear voices, echoing. Down, down…into the two-dimensional plane he seemed to be in.
“You realize, sir, in terms of results -”
“Just do your job,” a second voice - cold, sharp, without an ounce of warmth - snapped. “The studio wishes to try out a second run of cartoons with Borax’s creations. And perhaps basing these toons off the soft-hearted fool’s concept art will have made them more...cooperative.”
“Sir…if I may, speaking ill of a dead man is in bad taste, and - there’s always unexpected traits as is. Considering I’m copying someone else’s work, the risk of deviations is -”
A sharp, hissing retort. “You are not paid to have an opinion. Back to work.”
He tried moving, finding he could only move to one side or the other; everything felt flat. He tried raising his hands, pressing his fingers to what felt like a solid…thing.
Although he couldn’t see himself, he instinctively knew what he looked like. He knew that he was very lean, with long limbs and paws, two of which doubled as hands. He had a short muzzle, blue eyes, and a pink nose. A tail, which was very long. He might have been a cat, if it weren’t for his thin, rabbit-esque ears.
And he had fur, soft and black; everywhere but his face and appendages, which were all a light gray. There was a large spot of gray on his chest, too. He felt something around his neck and touched it, discovering it was a bowtie.
He heard a scratching noise, instinctively identified it as a line being inked onto paper. He pushed harder against the barrier; suddenly feeling more dimensional, less flat.
More real, flesh and blood, not just an image…
And he could be that, if he got to the world outside. He wanted to be there, not trapped in here.
He coiled his long legs, flexed his extremely long tail, and jumped.
Then he was out, landing in a crouch on a hard floor. The second light, sound, smells, feeling flooded in, they prompted a burst of knowledge.
He didn’t suddenly know everything about the world. But he did have basic knowledge now. He knew the names of the objects he saw around him, he knew his name - Yakky - he knew how to count and read…
“So.”
Yakky looked up and saw the source of the cold, uncaring voice.
A human man loomed over him in a suit, and was staring down at him. He only had one eye; the other seemed to be missing, three lines of scarring cutting diagonally across an empty socket. “This is the first one?”
“Yes,” this voice came from a different, unscarred human, bent over a drawing table.
“Get to the others, then,” the scarred human said.
The other human nodded and bent over a desk again. Yakky tilted his head, confused and a little unnerved by the utter lack of warmth in the one-eyed human’s gaze.
“I will get straight to the point,” One-Eye put his arms behind his very straight back. “You are here for one reason. One reason only, to act in our productions. You will do exactly as we tell you. Is that understood?”
Yakky nodded.
One-Eye’s remaining eye narrowed. “You will show me proper respect,” he snapped, “And say, ‘Yes, Mr. Memlo.’ Now.”
Yakky’s fur stood up; he could sense a repressed cruelty radiating off Memlo. But he had a bad feeling he couldn’t do as this human wanted, and that would displease him.
He tried to speak anyway.
Not a sound came out. He panicked internally as Memlo’s face darkened, single eye flashing furiously.
Yakky inched backward. His hands and wrists instinctively flexed, feline claws partially emerging, the fur spiking along his spine. He didn’t know what he could do to communicate; aside from frantically shaking his head and pointing at his throat.
“What is wrong with it, Henry?” Memlo snapped, pointing at Yakky. The look of destain on his face caused Yakky to shrink back even more, shame curdling in his stomach. “It is supposed to be the talkative one.”
Ironically, Yakky didn’t feel very talkative. Though he had no idea if this was courtesy of how scared he currently felt, or just…how he was.
“I…don’t know.” The other human had drawn three more toons; but hadn’t yet inked the final, life-giving line for any of them. “But, I did warn you, sir, that the results -”
“Yes, yes. I heard you earlier, Henry,” Memlo snapped. His one eye glared down at Yakky, who had gone as still as possible; hoping that if he was still, this scary man wouldn’t see him. Even though he logically knew this wouldn't work.
In the back of his mind, Yakky knew he was supposed to be drawn as a teen.
Yet under Memlo’s chilly, flinty stare, he felt more like a scared five year old. He had to fight to keep his tail and hands from trembling.
Memlo snorted. To Yakky’s relief, he finally looked away from him. “Animate the other three. We’ll make do with what we have.”
Henry bit his lip and proceeded to ink the final lines for the three remaining toons.
The paper flashed, and then Yakky beheld the other toons, laying in a pile together on the ground.
They all looked roughly like he did. But two of them had longer snouts, shorter tails, and were more stocky and thickset than Yakky himself was. The third was a small, slender girl, with long, curly hair and green eyes; instead of blue ones, like her three brothers.
Each also wore clothes and not just a bow tie, as Yakky did.
They’re my siblings.
Instinctively, Yakky knew it. He found himself slinking closer to them, drawn by a familial connection he hadn’t felt before. It was a warm feeling, almost like an inner fire...
“Get off me!” One of the twin boys - wearing a green sweater - barked, with a slight snarl. The girl hissed at him in annoyance when he bucked, throwing her off. Yakky started slightly at the sudden display of aggression.
“Fine, fine!” she snapped, getting up and dusting down her pink shirt. “Calm down.”
The boy growled at her, showing sharp, doglike teeth. The girl’s eyes widened and she stepped back, her expression mildly fearful. The boy in green faltered, and the other boy - this one more pudgy, with blue shorts on - put a hand on his arm.
The green-shirted boy stilled, now looking guilty.
All three turned as Yakky stopped next to them and tentatively studied them.
Their names had come to him now.
Smakky. The green shirted, more rough looking twin.
Wakky. The softer, chubbier one in blue.
Lottie. The girl, with her pink clothes, an equally pink bow around her ears. And a thin tail that was fairly long, but not quite as much as Yakky’s.
Wakky opened his mouth as if to say something, only for Memlo’s chilly voice to cut in.
“Enough. Cease this banal chitchat and listen to your betters.”
“What if we don’t want to do that?” Smakky growled, his eyes narrowed angrily.
Memlo glared down at the toon, his own lips twitching into a barely visible snarl. “Disobedience comes at a heavy cost for…your kind. Act out too much, and you will be imprisoned indefinitely. Used in experiments, as opposed to acting in our films. Painful experiments.”
Yakky’s eyes widened, his imagination coming up with a number of painful, theoretical scenarios. Smakky glowered at the man, a thunderous look in his eyes. Lottie’s brows had furrowed, her expression one of wariness. Wakky looked flat out scared, clinging to his twin.
“Henry here will take you four to the barracks,” Memlo remarked icily, “Where you will be living. Unless he decides to be your caretaker - which he has shown no interest in doing.”
Memlo dusted his suit off with one hand.
“Tomorrow, you will meet your director, who will be in charge of you from now on.”
With that, Memlo swept out of the room, taking his icy, disturbing aura with him.
Yakky was very thankful for that.
“Alright,” Henry said curtly, getting up from his stool. “Follow me.”
Yakky couldn’t help feeling slightly hurt by Henry’s cold demeanor.
Technically speaking, this man could claim to be his father. Part of him had hoped that Henry might decide to care for him. Instead, the animator was acting as though he just wanted to get away from the four toons as fast as possible.
A pair of guards were waiting outside the door. They flanked the small group as they left the animation building.
Yakky walked behind the three other toons. All of whom had been drawn to be younger than him…he had apparently been created as the oldest.
He felt a need to keep all three in his field of vision, to ensure they were safe. He hadn’t known them for very long, but already the inherent connection he had sensed earlier seemed to be deepening.
Judging from the continuing look of faint guilt on Smakky’s face, and the semi-conflicted look on Lottie’s, it wasn’t just him.
We’re family.
And possibly all they each mutually had.
///////////////////////////////////
The barracks consisted of a long, low building. It was a plain block of white and gray, with no visible openings aside from a single door.
The stone-faced guards carried strange looking guns that made Smakky nervous.
He didn’t like the guards. Nor did he like Henry’s dismissive attitude towards them. He definitely hadn’t liked Memlo, and hoped to never see him again.
It made him angry.
Everything about his situation made him angry.
However, Wakky clearly needed him to stay calm; which was just enough to keep his simmering temper down. Wakky was practically Smakky’s shadow at the moment, and he was obviously scared of the guards. Smakky could see the fear in his eyes, and he could also scent it coming off him in waves.
In the minutes since Smakky had come to life, he’d gradually realized that Wakky was more than just his brother; he was his twin brother, and he felt an even stronger pull towards him than towards Yakky and Lottie.
He refused to let anyone hurt Wakky.
Yet, he didn't just feel protective towards his twin. If someone tried to hurt any of his siblings, Smakky had already decided there would be hell to pay.
“Inside,” Henry pointed at the door. “And don’t leave unless someone comes to fetch you,” he added flatly.
Snakky grit his teeth, tempted to give the human a piece of his mind; until Wakky gently nuzzled his cheek.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “I…I’m scared of what they might do.”
For a long moment, Smakky debated the merits of trying to slug Henry in the gut anyway.
Ultimately, his twin’s fear of what the humans might do won out.
Wakky needed him.
And you need him.
If Smakky caused too much trouble, they might be separated.
The thought cut through his anger, though it hadn’t died down completely. The rage continued to simmer just beneath his skin.
“Fine,” Snakky grumbled.
He grit his teeth, trying to force his temper back down. It was hard, much harder than he would have liked, even though he was actively trying to keep Memlo’s earlier threats in mind.
He had a feeling they weren’t empty ones.
Yakky lightly touched his shoulder; the action was uncertain, tentative. As though he wanted to help, but wasn’t sure how it would be received.
Snakky didn’t entirely blame him. Despite the inbuilt familial connection they all apparently shared, he didn’t exactly… know much about Yakky yet. And the inbuilt connection wasn’t that strong yet, even though Yakky's presence automatically comforted him. With an irate huff and a last glare at the human gaurds, he stiffly stepped through the single door into the barracks building.
Inside was a large space, lined with rows of cots. Two other doors, marked ‘cafeteria’ and ‘bathroom,’ were set in the opposing wall.
“Why is there no one else here?”
Wakky’s voice was very quiet. His grip tightened on the sleeve of Smakky’s green sweater.
In honesty, Smakky didn’t love the sweater. He had a weird feeling that he was copying an unknown someone’s look, and it made him feel like an imposter. Smakky wasn’t sure what he would prefer to wear, but he didn’t think it was this.
Of course, he doubted he had a choice in the matter. The cots certainly had no additional clothes on them, just very basic sheets and a single pillow each.
“You heard our lovely friend back there,” Lottie muttered with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “They must be…doing that thing he was talking about.”
“Acting?” Wakky asked, meekly and uncertainly.
“Yeah.”
Smakky snorted and moved towards one of the cots. He sniffed at it; the lack of a scent indicated no one was sleeping in it.
As such, he went ahead and sat on it. Wakky, who had maintained his grip on his sleeve, came along with him. The blue-clothed twin clambered onto the bed and huddled there, his wide eyes continuing to study the grim, bland room.
Lottie followed, tailed by Yakky; who, Smakky realized, hadn’t said a word this whole time.
“So,” Lottie muttered, springing onto the cot and sitting at the very end. “We’re siblings.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact.
“Ah-hu,” Smakky pulled at the green sweater’s hem, then fidgeted with it. His gaze flitted to Lottie and away again. “…I’m sorry.”
Lottie blinked. “Sorry?”
“I scared you earlier,” Smakky said bluntly. “Didn’t I?”
“Maybe a little,” Lottie answered, clasping her hands.
Smakky’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t mean to,” he said dejectedly.
I really didn’t.
His anger had finally died, and in its wake Smakky realized that he’d made a very bad first impression.
He was Lottie’s big brother, and the first thing he’d done was snap at her.
“I know,” Lottie replied after a long moment.
Snakky dared to glance at her. She shot him a faint smile, which managed to put him slightly at ease.
Wakky yawned and curled up in the cot. “I’m tired.”
“You are?” Lottie asked, sounding a little baffled. “We literally just started…existing.”
“Yeah, but,” Wakky muttered, “It’s a lot to take in. Suddenly existing.”
Snakky couldn’t really argue against that. It was a little overwhelming, going from being nothing to being real. He was a little tired too, actually.
Slight movement drew his gaze to Yakky; who had been so quiet, he’d almost forgotten he was here.
“You’re our older brother,” Smakky stated, instinctively knowing it was true. That Yakky was the oldest of the four, that he and Wakky fell in the middle. And Lottie was youngest.
Yakky had sat cross legged on the floor. He blinked at the three toons on the cot, one forefinger running beneath the neck of the bowtie.
Then he nodded, drawing his knees up and putting his arms around them.
“You can’t talk, can you?” Lottie asked, sounding puzzled.
Yakky shook his head, his extremely long tail swishing across the smooth concrete floor.
“But you’re named -” Wakky broke off, sleepily blinking. “Um. Never mind, um…”
Yakky stared at him for a moment, not blinking whatsoever.
Wakky awkwardly smiled back.
Yakky did blink after a few moments, donning a tentative smile of his own.
“You could come up here. With us,” Wakky said.
Nodding again, Yakky stood up, and Smakky fully processed how tall he was compared to his three siblings; he had almost a foot on the twins, a little more on Lottie.
Yet, with his gangly limbs, he didn’t appear all that large or intimidating.
Yakky climbed onto the cot and tentatively held an arm out. Lottie and Smakky both responded to his invitation and shuffled closer, letting the oldest put his arm around them. Wakky rolled closer, curling up like a dog against his twin and older brother.
Smakky felt Yakky release a lengthy exhale, tickling his ear.
He dropped his head against Yakky’s chest and half lidded his eyes.
//////////////////////////////////
The four siblings ended up falling asleep on the cot, piled up together.
When they woke up again, it was morning. Other toons were rising from the previously cots.
Yakky opened his eyes first. He could faintly hear and smell evidence of food, coming from the door that had been marked as a cafeteria.
“Ooh,” Wakky had stirred next, his nose twitching. “Food?”
As all four of them were ravenously hungry, they went into the cafeteria after Smakky and Lottie woke up. The food on offer there was standard breakfast fare; bland but consumable.
Some of the other toons did start up conversations with them, but ultimately Lottie did most of the talking. Wakky also contributed; though through mouthfuls of food, as he was devouring the substandard fare with a seemingly unwarranted gusto.
Yakky was left in the awkward position of letting the other toons know he couldn’t speak at all. Smakky seemed wary of just about everyone who approached, eyeballing each toon as though they might be a potential threat, while he chewed on his own breakfast. His shoulders were noticeably stiff, as if he were ready to spring.
This garnered many uncomfortable looks from the other toons, and they would quickly excuse themselves once they noticed Smakky’s wary tension.
Yakky had a feeling he wasn’t helping matters; the other toons probably didn’t like that he was staring at them, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t let go of the idea that if he looked at someone hard enough, he could nonverbally communicate with them. Furthermore, he kept getting caught up in studying their faces, trying to discern what the other toons were thinking.
The other toons trickled out of the building one by one, accompanied by humans in guard uniforms; like the ones who had brought the four siblings to the barrack house yesterday. Not knowing what else to do, they returned to the cot room and watched the door.
Ten minutes later, a guard entered the building and fetched them, as they’d been told would happen by Memlo.
They were brought to a soundstage.
Yakky’s ears twitched, the sound of the door closing echoing in the large space. There were crisscrossing beams above his head, with bright lights - though only some were on - storage rooms in the far distance, bulky pieces of equipment he didn’t recognize. Props and costumes everywhere, and what looked like sets. All built to resemble anything from a living room to a hilly pasture.
It was a lot, all housed in an impressively large space. He felt very small in comparison as they were marched through it all, up to a area littered with chairs and a few tables. A new group of humans turned to look at them. Yakky instantly felt anxious and exposed as they stared, and his tail ended up in his hands, and he started to pluck fur from it.
It stung a little, but Yakky didn’t care.
It was keeping him grounded.
"So," the shortest of the group said, stern gaze critically raking over the young toons. "I'm working with these, am I?"
His dismissive tone prompted a pointed, belligerent glance from Lottie. Yakky shivered slightly; this was most likely the 'director,' Memlo had referred to.
Yakky had hoped to encounter some kindness, but it seemed he would not be. The human spoke in a way that made it clear he did not see Yakky or the others as equals, but simply pawns. Nothing more.
They were instructed to try and use their powers for the first time, and run through a series of test scenes.
This took an entire day. A long half-hour was spent trying to discover their toon powers within themselves in the first place; in of itself, a struggle.
Yet, in a way it was rewarding. Yakky thrilled slightly in the warmth that flooded his veins when he managed to make contact with what felt like an inner core, a innate sort of energy unique to toonkind.
Actually using these abilities, and discovering what they could do, was a mixture of fun and frustration. Particularly under the critical eyes of the humans.
To the sibling’s collective relief, they didn’t seem to be expected to do anything beyond hammerspace antics just yet.
Even that, however, proved to have its challenges. Storing real objects in hammerspace and getting them out again was fairly simple.
The far harder task was creating temporary objects for the sake of gags.
Wakky caught on to this aspect very quickly, within the next few hours. Yakky and Lottie weren’t nearly as quick to grasp it, but eventually they too were able to manage. Though Yakky did learn how to conjure temporary signs rather fast, at least.
He thought it might partly be due to his desire to communicate, as these signs could have words on them.
But in the end, their trial run went decently.
For three of the four, at least.
To his frustration, Smakky struggled significantly more than his siblings.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get his toon powers to work.
“Good…” Their director said. Then he glanced judgmentally at Smakky - who glared back - then at the floor with his fists clenched. “Except for you. But for now, at least, your siblings will make up for your lacking performance.”
Something about the director’s tone caused Smakky’s temper to flare. “I was trying!” he barked. “Why does it matter if I ca - I don’t even want to do this acting thing!”
Subconsciously, Smakky thought he had known that all along. But it had taken giving it voice to bring the truth out into the open.
He tried to ignore the pitying looks his siblings were giving him.
Smakky didn’t like that.
I don’t need pity!
It was making him feel weak. Broken.
Like there's something wrong with me -
“Too bad,” the director said flatly. “It’s what you were made for. You’re coming back here tomorrow, and acting for real. All four of you.”
//////////////////////////////////
For a long while, the quartet’s lives consisted of being escorted from the lot’s barracks house to a set. Each day consisted of nothing but filming, from dawn to late at night. They weren’t given the opportunity to do anything else during this time, aside from getting a brief chance to eat.
And the filming process didn’t go nearly as well as the humans would have wanted.
Despite being somewhat scared of new things, Wakky continued to be skilled with his hammerspace. He also came up with weird ideas that the director was sometimes willing to be ‘inspired’ by, incorporating them into jokes; though he was never willing to give Wakky credit for these ideas.
Lottie wound up being what the humans had expected Yakky to be; sharp tongued and witty, good at wordplay, confident before an audience. A definitive smart aleck.
Smakky's toon powers still refused to come.
The director didn’t like that; he made it very clear that Smakky was disappointing him at every turn.
Several times, Smakky growled at the director. He was sharply reprimanded, this director leveling the same threats at him that Weed Memlo had. In a less malicious manner, but they all knew the message was the same.
Smakky wasn’t the only one still having trouble.
Yakky continued to feel anxious as the days crawled on; he disliked being in front of a camera, and having an audience...staring at him. Looking at his face, studying every line of his body. The bowtie he’d been drawn with frequently felt much too tight. But he felt it would be indecent to take it off, when it was all he had to wear.
In honesty, he wished he’d been given pants, or shorts like Wakky.
Yakky frequently wanted nothing more than to hide, to find a dark place to shelter and let the pressure that had a vice grip on his chest go away…
“Cut!”
Today was one such day, and Yakky almost jumped out of his skin when the director shouted.
His heart had started beating at a thousand miles a minute.
The vice grip on his chest was back. The lights above felt too bright. He was extremely conscious of how every move was being critically observed.
Yakky already knew that there was something wrong with him, courtesy of Memlo's initial reaction to him.
He could tell that everyone else thought that, too.
“You were supposed to land there,” the director said curtly, pointing a few feet to his right.
An actor sat there tied in gag rope, the other three toons standing around him. They were all looking at Yakky with concern.
“Climb up and do it again,” the director ordered.
Glancing up at the prop tree - part of a jungle set they were in - Yakky meekly nodded. He scurried for the prop tree, his chest tightening by the second.
This seemed to happen a lot; he’d step in the wrong place, or fumble a stunt. Any minor mistake resulted in being ordered to repeat himself.
When he climbed back up onto the branch, he crouched to jump again.
“You’re in the wrong spot! Is it really so difficult to remember your starting point?” the director barked in obvious annoyance.
Yakky froze up then, now frozen, claws digging into the fake tree, itching to pluck at his tail and soothe himself.
The problem was, his fingers didn’t seem to want to loosen their grip on the branch. Yakky couldn’t seem to do anything; he continued to crouch there, every muscle locked up. As though primed to…
Run?
Escape?
Yakky gulped, badly wanting to hide.
“You know, if you think you can do any better,” Lottie drawled from below, “You could climb up there. Show us all how it’s done. Like a true professional…a professional clown, that is.”
The director turned on her, glowering. Lottie stared right back, her eyes blazing.
“That clever tongue of yours is an asset,” he growled, “But keep disrespecting me, and it won’t be enough of one to keep you around.”
Wakky squeaked. Smakky growled and glared at the director.
The existing connection between the siblings had slowly but surely started to deepen. They’d had some time to talk amongst themselves, beginning to know each other.
The bond was still somewhat weak. And as each day left the siblings exhausted, they hadn’t exactly talked much.
But it was strong enough now that the twins and Lottie didn’t like seeing Yakky bullied by the director.
“Now -”
The director’s eyes narrowed as he looked back up at the still frozen Yakky.
“Action!”
Yakky forced himself to move, repeating the jump as requested.