Chapter Text
ACME's standard delivery services utilized trucks not unlike standard mail delivery, but had one singular enthusiastic exception: a lithe and lean delivery man regularly clad in golden-yellow rollerblades and a cheery smile. Wiley could've sworn he saw a nametag on his uniform shirt, but the interaction had happened so needlessly fast that all he had gotten were the man's initials: R■■ R■■■. Wiley had barely signed off on the package clearly labeled "FRAGILE" before the delivery man bolted in the other direction, leaving a cloud of dust and dead grass swirling behind him. Wiley scrunched his face in scrutiny and opened the box in his hands to find the glassware he'd ordered in seemingly one piece; with a shrug, his frown softened into a neutral smile, and he held it up in the light to examine it better. It was a glass bulb integral to his current project, custom-built to complete the lights on his machine he'd been working on for months. He grabbed a microfiber cloth to dust off the bulb. The instant the cloth made contact with the bulb, it cracked.
Wiley's jaw clenched. He quickly brought the bulb up to his face to inspect closer. The crack was fairly small, and although it was a disappointment, it wouldn't impact its efficacy. He gingerly screwed it into place and sighed in relief when the crack didn't worsen.
Wiley had been working for another half hour when a knock came from his front door. He set his things down, and when he looked through his peephole he saw the same delivery man from before, bouncy hair peeking out from a bandana rolled over itself to form a headband. That's right! thought Wiley. He'd almost forgotten he'd rush ordered some nails as well. Eagerly, he opened the door, and as the air pressure changed in his home he heard with horror the glass bulb shatter from across the room. He immediately spun around to look with dismay at his creation, and before he could chew out the reckless delivery man for not being more careful with the packages in his possession, the man giggled, waved good-bye, and flew off again with a parting, "Beep beep!"
•
"…and all you have to identify this guy is a bandana you found on the ground?" Bugs asked, his demeanor flat and unamused. "I don't think ACME keeps tabs on which of their employees does or does not wear accessories on a day-to-day basis, Doc."
Wiley had taken to wearing the blue bandana tied around the base of his cowboy hat in the hopes his elusive one-sided nemesis came close enough to demand it back, at which point Wiley intended to demand recompense.
"I dunno, mack, why don't you just order a new bulb?" Bugs continued. "Seems to me a lot easier than having an enemy. And I would know."
Wiley aggressively underlined the words of his note before shoving it in Bugs's face. [IT'S NOT ABOUT THE BULB!!!]
"Then what IS it about, Doc?" Bugs prompted. He took another bite of his carrot, his expression already relaxed in the way that he and Wiley both knew meant he'd been on the receiving end of this rant before.
Wiley held up a note that he'd already presented. [It's about PRINCIPLE]
He flipped the note around.
[AND JUSTICE!]
"Well, sounds like ACME's getting a nice cut of this 'justice'," Bugs said.
Wiley rolled his eyes and went back to drawing the diagram of his plan. Bugs stood behind him and passively watched as Wiley hastily drew stick figure after stick figure. "Ehh, it's your money," Bugs said, and punctuated his sentiment with a loud bite of his carrot. "If you want to order an excessive amount of expensive name-brand products with even more expensive same-day delivery, that's all you, bucko." Wiley's frenzied thoughts grew more erratic and he repeatedly circled the stick figure that sported a cute little ponytail with jagged heavy strokes, his face contorting into a manic and uneven toothy grin. By the time the lead of his pencil snapped, he was panting and salivating.
Bugs cocked an eyebrow up at him. "So are you still going to do that demonstration for shop class tonight, Prof?"
Wiley, being an esteemed mechanic in his own right, occasionally lent his knowledge and experience at the nearby university. Bugs, being a kindly next door neighbor, had offered to drive Wiley that night since his pet project wasn't ready to take out yet. Wiley had opted to change into something more professional for the seminar, but unwilling to forget his goal he still wore his cowboy hat. It was obviously principle. Bugs tsk'd him but didn't stop him.
Wiley, being a man of science and logic, was always eager to impart what he could on eager disciples. There was a good showing that night, much to his delight, and as more attendees filtered in he was awash with self-satisfaction.
"Oh, Mr. Coyote!" a familiar voice called out. A student with swooping black hair ran up to him with a cheery smile on her face. "I'm so happy t-to see you. W-when I saw your name on the d-de-d-de-desc-descri-d- overview of the class, I just knew I had to sign up!" Petunia had always been a standout repeat student of his seminars. "Will you be showing off any n-new inventions today?"
Wiley smiled and nodded, and Petunia squealed excitedly.
"I can't wait to see! You have to let me know what materials you use so I can t-take notes."
Wiley turned towards the work table to show Petunia what he was planning to use.
"Oh, are those ACME-brand miniature dynamite sticks size C model 4?" Petunia asked. "Ohh, and ACME's new compact travel-size flamethrower! I've been waiting for those to restock so I can order one. I can't w-wait to see it used in person!"
Wiley nodded, growing more and more happy with himself. How could he not? It was always a treat to have his choices validated. He raised a finger in the air- just one moment- and pulled out a long black string.
"And a fuse elongator!" Petunia cried.
By this time, everyone in attendance aside from Petunia had taken a seat for the seminar. Wiley waved at everyone and started up the projector to show on the big screen his demonstration. With a smirk, Wiley laid out the excessively long string across the floor so that it zigzagged back and forth across the room, covering several yards' worth of distance. Petunia was pleased as punch to have such a close view. Wiley was eager to show off the technology at hand: even with the smallest flame, the fibers consumed by the flame would keep it lasting until it crossed the entire distance of the long fuse and still be enough to set off the explosive. It was a surefire memorable demonstration of the importance of lab safety.
"Oh, b-b-but Mr. Coyote," Petunia began, her eyes glued to the travelling flame, "I d-don't see any extinguishers."
Wiley had learned that lesson long ago. He shook his head with a knowing smile and reached under his desk and grabbed an extinguisher out, and to emphasize his point his gently shook it. His smile quickly fell when he realized the can was completely empty. To be sure, he shook it again and tried to spray it, but nothing came out.
The attendees began to murmur amongst themselves. The flame continued to rapidly eat its fuse.
"Um, M-M-M-Mi-Mis-M- Professor Coyote, do you need to get a new e-ex-extinguisher?" Petunia stammered out, but Wiley had already reached for his phone and placed a rush order.
He held up a sign for everyone to see. [DON'T WORRY] said one side. He flipped it around. [IT'S PART OF THE SHOW]
He hoped nobody would see the nervousness in his smile as the classroom erupted in cheering and laughter as he fumbled around finding empty water bottles. The fuse was over half of the way burned through.
Luckily for him, ACME knew what a rush order meant, and the door opened with a reverberating BANG. Wiley locked eyes with the confused-looking delivery man.
"Oh, it's the roadrunner!" Petunia cheered. Wiley raised an eyebroe at the monicker. "I d-di-didn't know he worked for ACME."
Wiley hopped over the active flame and rushed the delivery man, ripping the package from his hands without breaking eye contact. The man's eyes went wide, and he glanced up at the bandana on Wiley's hat before looking back into his furious gaze. Good, he's scared, thought Wiley, Maybe he'll learn some spacial awareness. Wiley suddenly felt warmth building in his body. I knew I was mad, but I didn't think I was steamed, he thought. He and the delivery man both looked down to see a growing flame eating at Wiley's pants. Snickers erupted from the class.
Wiley looked from his burning pants to the man to the class to the demonstration to his pants again to the package in his hands. In a cold sweat, he tore open the package and immediately squeezed the activation. The flame grew bigger as he saw, with dismay, that instead of a fire extinguisher, he was holding a battery-operated fan.
Wiley's eyes bugged. He threw the fan to the ground and lunged at the delivery man to search his bag for the right package, but the man- the "roadrunner" as Petunia had dubbed him- slinked away on his rollerblades and dodged him. Caught up in the literal heat of the moment, Wiley continued to persue him, weaving in and out of the toolboxes and parts he'd brought for the seminar. The roadrunner was a flash of blurry yellow skates and a bouncing ponytail as he skillfully glided around the room with all the grace of a ballerina. Wiley stopped himself from stepping over the fuse a second time and let the roadrunner escape. He tried to collect himself, realizing how ridiculous the situation was, and did the next rational step: stop, drop, and roll. He would be an idiot to forget his pants were on fire.
Of course, he would be even more of an idiot to forget he'd covered the entire floor with fuse. The fire from his pants, instead of extinguishing on the floor, lit the fuse even closer to the dynamite than it already was. There were now three open flames in the room.
Wiley was not unused to failure. After all, failure was part of the learning process. This knowledge did not keep him from wincing as he heard the explosion go off. In the midst of the smoke, he saw the roadrunner's teasing tongue as he blew a raspberry and skated out of the building.
•
"It's lucky you used those mini dynamite sticks instead of the real thing," Bugs said as a well-singed Wiley entered his car. "Boy, I know smoky colognes are in right now, but you're laying it on thick, huh?"
Wiley side-eyed him.
"I see an opportunity and I take it, Doc," Bugs said with a shrug.
Once Wiley had suffiently showered, he popped back into Bugs's place to chat. Luckily, the rest of his seminar had gone without more surprises; once the flames had burnt themselves out, Wiley avoided any more fire-related activities, and the whole unintentional show had proved to be very engaging for the attendees. The feedback forms he'd received at the end were full of glowing comments, many of which emphasized the unforgettable nature of the lesson. Any comments on the state of Wiley's pants were kept in hushed tones.
"The roadrunner, huh? Yeah, that's Roadie's nickname, on account of how he's always, well, you can guess. He's pretty well known in the area. I'm surprised you hadn't seen him around before," said Bugs. "I shoulda known you were describing him when you mentioned the skates. Go figure." Bugs peeked at the new blueprint Wiley had pulled out. "Woah! I know you've got a vendetta against the guy, but isn't that a little…" He trailed off, speechless at what Wiley had written.
Wiley aggressively pointed at the last note. [I WANT THE ROADRUNNER]
"Ehh, yeah," Bugs said. "So how do you figure you're going to get him?"
Wiley slammed his fists onto the table and then melted into the chair, slumping over the blueprint in a pathetic display of defeat. He scratched his head in thought.
"Not to criticize your big scheme or nothing, Doc, but what do you plan to do to him once you get him? Are you trying to get him fired from his job or somethin'?"
[No]
"Then are you going to, uh, fight him?"
[No]
Wiley sat up again and stared at his blueprints in thought. He tapped the table, impatient with himself. Ultimately, he tapped his pencil to his blueprint again.
[I WANT THE ROADRUNNER]
"Well, if I know anything about trouble," Bugs said, "and believe me, I do- the best thing to do is to stay out of it." He patted Wiley on the back. "You know, I just remembered I have some carrots I need to cook into a stew tonight. Why don't you get out there and chase your roadrunner while I stay here cozy at home?" At some point, his back-pats became coercive pushes towards the front door. "Good luck with your vague plans and harebrained schemes! Don't be a stranger, neighbor! Goodbye now!" Before he knew it, Wiley was on the outside steps of Bugs's house. "Goodnight, neighbor!" Bugs called.
Wiley glanced back in confusion as the door was shut on him, and then back towards the blueprint in his hands. The stick figure he'd drawn of Roadie was enough to make him grow hot and antsy, and he stormed over to his own house and slammed the door shut.
He dreamt of chasing a blurry roadrunner along an endless desert road.