Daffy Duck sat on the lounge chair beside the pool, sunglasses perched on his head and a reflector held carefully under his chin at just the right angle to keep him from burning to a comical, featherless crisp if the sun hit it the wrong way. Which was likely. His luck was about that good most of the time. If Bugs was around, he thought idly, that’s exactly what would happen. The irascible old long-eared menace would flick the reflector just right—or just wrong—or nudge his chair or use his own reflector in a way that it amplified the rays on Daffy’s and he would be a smoking mess ready to tell him you’re dethpicable in a hoarse, resigned voice.
But Bugs wasn’t there. Hadn’t been by for a while, if Daffy was honest, and that was just fine with him. He was probably off starring in a role of his own, outwitting hunters or witches or vampires or soldiers or whatever the enemy of the week was. As long as it wasn’t Daffy.
Besides, this wasn’t technically his house, but as long as Bugs wasn’t here he could get away with using it.
There was a shift in the background music—most people, even most Toons, couldn’t hear it, but Daffy had always been tuned into the soundtrack of his life and could usually guess when something was about to go down by the new motifs. This one sounded like…Egghead?
Daffy lowered the reflector and half sat up, and sure enough, here came the little fellow riding on a bicycle, ringing his bell twice for attention. He pulled up alongside Daffy with a screech, reached under his coat, and pulled out a yellow envelope, which he handed to Daffy. Daffy flipped him a coin—he wasn’t sure of the denomination, that had never mattered, but it was silver—and ripped open the envelope. Inside, on equally yellow paper, was a telegram. (Daffy was at least vaguely aware that people didn’t really send telegrams anymore, but he’d never quite got the hang of text messaging, and neither had any other Toon he knew. Anyway, this was good enough.) Three lines of black text below the company header told him everything he needed to know.
COME TO LONDON ASAP
HAVE LEADING ROLE FOR YOU
NOT A TRICK—NO PRONOUN TROUBLE
B BUNNY
“A leading role!” he shouted in glee, jumping up and down and waving the telegram in the air as he clicked his heels together. “Count me in every time, brother! I’m on my way!”
He sped into the mansion—not his mansion, but there was a room designated as his anyway—sped out with a suitcase full of clothes and a hat clapped on his head, and whistled for a taxi.
“To the airport!” he yelled as the driver pulled to a stop in front of him. “And thhhhtep on it!”
“Yes, sir!” the cabbie said smartly.
Daffy reached for the handle, half expecting that the cab would pull away in a puff of smoke the second he reached for the handle. To his surprise, he not only managed to seize the handle, but actually open the door and climb into the backseat before the driver nodded at him and pulled away, smooth but fast.
“Huh.” Daffy settled back into the seat and beamed in the direction of the screen. “Thith could be my lucky day.”