He looked around eagerly as he advanced through the office. There were boxes of folders, labels, and other assorted filing and archiving supplies scattered about—organizing those would be the first step, he thought, even before they started doing the actual archiving. They ought to start making audio recordings of these, too. Maybe because he’d spent his whole life in cartoons, and all of it in the “talkie” era, he felt very strongly that all of the statements should be spoken aloud to really get things across to the audience.
And really, who was he to deprive people of the opportunity to listen to his dulcet tones?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the door to the Head Archivist’s office—his office. It had a glass panel set into it, just like the detective agency he’d run as Duck Tracy and the headquarters of Quackbusters, and just like them there was a drawing of an eye etched into the glass. Below that was etched the words HEAD ARCHIVIST, as was to be expected.
Below that, in the same gold lettering as the main door to the Archives, was a sign that read DAFFY DUCK.
His name. His name. Emblazoned on a door. And a real office, an important one, one that was obviously actually the Head Archivist’s office, which could be viewed through the parts of the glass not frosted and etched over. This was no broom closet with a tin star hastily tacked to it so he could pretend he was important as Bugs, with his lighted mirrors and extensive costumes and personal makeup artists and hare-stylists and attendants to fan him with gigantic palm leaves. This was an actual office that was actually his and had his name actually written on it in actual, official paint instead of scrawled on with marker (by him, usually). It was even spelled right.
Daffy stood staring at it, feeling the sparkles in his eyes as he rubbed his hands together over and over. “Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy!” he chanted in delight. “Everything’th coming up Daffy!”
NYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
“MEEP-MEEP!”
Suddenly and without warning, something slammed into Daffy’s side hard enough to knock him into the air. He somersaulted several times and belly flopped through a cloud of dust to land on the floor with an audible thunk. It was a miracle he didn’t actually make a duck shaped hole in the floor of the Archives—his beak didn’t even punch through the board.
Still, he thought for a brief moment as he lay there stunned, he didn’t think it actually hurt all that much less.
Feet skidded to a halt an inch away from his beak, and Daffy cracked his eyes open to see three furry brown toes tipped with wickedly curved claws directly in front of them. He traveled up a pair of long, skinny, knock kneed legs to a scrawny body with lighter fur on the stomach, a scraggly tail, two equally skinny arms poised in a slightly predatory gesture, and a long snout tipped with a black nose. Wide yellow eyes stared down at him in shock.
“Oh,” he said, his Transatlantic accent slightly…sheepish. “Hello, Daffy. I’m dreadfully sorry.”
“Oh, you’ll be more than thorry when I’m through with you,” Daffy muttered. He pushed himself to his feet, then rose to a standing position, brushing the dust off of his front and trying to look both dignified and annoyed as he did so. You’re in charge, you need to look like it. He flicked his tail back into alignment and cleared his throat. “Ahem. And what, pray tell, are you doing here?”
“Ah. Well.” Wile E. Coyote, whom Daffy had been in a couple movies with but never a solo cartoon, gave him a broad, slightly strained grin. “If you are, as you appear to be, the new Archivist, why…then I am your assistant.”
“My aththithtant?” Daffy repeated.
“Well, one of them. I believe that, aha, ‘three is the magic number’?” Wile E gave him a hopeful smile.
Daffy narrowed his eyes at him, completely unimpressed. They were close enough to being on the same side of things these days that he wasn’t going to take any guff from this loser. “Tho I’m your bothth?”
“Ah…yes?”
Daffy folded his arms over his chest and gave Wile E a tight, insincere smile. “Which meanth,” he said, “I believe, that I can fire you if you don’t GET THAT ROAD RUNNER BACK ON THE ROAD!!!”
He said the last eight words in a shrill yell that lifted him slightly off the ground with the force of its fury, hands balled into fists and arms incredibly stiff as he tilted towards his “assistant”. Wile E. Coyote reeled backwards slightly, arms flung up over his face and teetering onto one leg, then quickly reasserted himself as soon as the echoes had died away.
“Ah, y-yes. Yes, of course, Mr. Duck,” he managed. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just go…find him now.”
He tiptoed, very quickly and carefully, away into the depths of the Archives, following the rapidly dissipating dust trail.
Daffy stood in front of his office door, hands still clenched into fists and head hung down, breathing heavily as he tried to get himself under control. Be calm, Daffy. Be cool. Keep your head. This is your first day. Don’t let Bugs regret picking you for—
“E-excuse me, but, eh, ha-have you seen a, uh, a-a Road Runner about?”
Daffy screamed.
It was a full body, full throated, from the depths of his soul, echoing off the walls of the sound booth sort of scream, eyes wild and pupils shrinking to pinpricks within black rings within white eggs, arms and legs splayed out in all directions as he leaped into the air and flailed wildly for the duration. Had there been walls to either side he would have catapulted off of them, ricocheting about like a rubber ball flung into a concrete room. As it was, he just hung in the air for several seconds before dropping to the ground and whirling on the person who had snuck up on him, ripping a handful of feathers from the top of his head as he did so.
“Eh-b-b—bad time?” Porky Pig asked dryly.
Okay. If Daffy was being honest, he was relieved to see the Porkster there. Porky had long been one of his more frequent co-stars, perhaps even more often than Bugs—the straight man to Daffy’s zaniness, the sidekick to his heroic schemes, occasionally his victim but more often his friend, and even—in the movie they’d been able to put out completely without Bugs’ involvement, probably because Bugs had been here—his brother. If there was anyone he would have selected as an assistant, it would have been Porky Pig.
On the other hand, it was something of a shock to see him here at all, since Daffy hadn’t even known he’d left Toon Town.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, a bit pleadingly, even though he could guess.
“Oh, I, eh—I-I-I’m your, eh, your new assistant,” Porky said with a charming smile. “Ea-B-B—ea-B-B—eh, B-Bugs said you’d, eh, want me in particular.”
“He’th not wrong,” Daffy admitted. “It’th good to thee you, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal.” He scowled over his shoulder. “Better than the other one I’ve been thaddled with.”
“Has he, eh—h-has he caught the, eh, the Road Runner yet?” Porky winced. “I eh, saw him get in.”
“I thent him to catch the thtupid thing and get him out of here, but I haven’t theen him back yet.”
Porky sighed and patted Daffy on the shoulder. “I’ll eh-g-g, I’ll eh-g-g, I’ll eh-g-g—I-I’ll help find him. Don’t worry, Daffy. It’s, eh, i-it’s only the first day.” He trotted off in the direction of Wile E and the Road Runner.
Daffy took a deep breath, then stepped into his office. His office. If he was going to try and calm himself down, he might as well do it in private.
The office was very nice. It had a rich, solid antique desk of dark wood, a chair on wheels that looked like it spun all the way around, an old fashioned lamp, and a phone like the one on the secretary’s desk upstairs. It had a set of shelves that, admittedly, looked a lot flimsier, but Daffy supposed that it wouldn’t really feel like his office if there wasn’t a risk of something collapsing if he looked at it funny. It had space for a computer, although no computer was set up, and really Daffy preferred the solid clacking and ringing of a good old fashioned manual typewriter anyway. It had an extra chair, this one a basic wooden one, presumably for anyone he was interviewing or yelling at to sit in.
And it had…pictures. Pictures on every wall. Pictures of…
…Eyes.
Green, brown, blue, black, and every color in between. Pairs and singles and one picture that was a person’s shape just…covered in glowing green eyes. Big pictures, small pictures, and everything in between. The walls, like the hills, had eyes, and the walls were staring at him.
“Well,” he muttered, putting his hands on his hips and looking around disapprovingly. “That’th all got to go.”
He paced around the office for a minute, letting himself calm down and also getting his bearings. Once he was satisfied that he was calmer, and also relatively certain that Porky if not Wile E had definitely caught the Road Runner and got rid of it by now, he turned, squared his shoulders, and stepped out into the Archives.
Neither Porky nor Wile E were over by the desks. He did, however, see someone else, and remembered that Wile E had mentioned there would be three assistants, or at least heavily implied it. What startled him was who it was that was settling, with laborious concentration, a mostly full mug of something onto the desk and then settling down on the edge of it.
“Tweety?” he said incredulously.
Tweety looked up at him and smiled. It was a smile that didn’t exactly reach his eyes, the kind of innocent smile he gave whatever cat was trying to eat him today. “Hewwo, Daffy. Are you de new Awchivist?”
“Yep!” Daffy said proudly. “Were you working down here when Granny wath the Archivitht?”
“No, I was up in Weseawch,” Tweety answered. “So was Wiwe E, except he was a Pwacticaw Weseawchew. Powky was in de Wibwawy.”
“Oh.” Daffy was momentarily disappointed that none of them knew what he was supposed to be doing, then, but then he brightened up. On the other hand, none of them knew what he was supposed to be doing, so he could do whatever he wanted and they would have to do it. “Well! Ath thoon ath they get back here—”
There was a loud slam of a door that rattled Daffy and Tweety, made the tea ripple, and sent a few papers on a nearby shelf curling through the air. A moment later, Porky and Wile E came back, looking wiped out and frazzled but no worse for the wear. Porky saluted almost sardonically. “The eh-R-R, the eh-R-R, the, eh, Road Runner is out of the Archives, ea-B-B-Boss.”
“Good!” Daffy beamed at all three of them. “Have a theat and we’ll talk about what’th going to happen nektht.”