los-angeles-toon-patrol – Page 4

I noticed his grimace as he talked. Maybe the sculpting wasn’t such a
good idea, but once we got to this place, I’m sure he could ditch it.

Personally
I was worried, I wasn’t used to not being the leader, not knowing where
we were going. I wasn’t gonna tell nobody that, of course, so I just
smirked, deciding to let the blob be uncomfortable a little longer..

Nobody
talked; we followed the repairman for what seemed like an hour and the
streets were becoming oppressively unfamiliar, and then the siren began
to sound.

-Smartass

In actuality, it was more like ten minutes. But those ten minutes really stretch when you’re stuck in a wheelchair against your will, in an uncomfortable form, thinking slightly more weasel-ish thoughts (not much, mind, but enough to annoy the Repairman).

They soon crossed into the Nega-Verse as if it was just next door. The bright and cheery colors of normal ToonTown were quickly replaced with reds and purples. One look at this place, and it was obvious crime and evil ruled here.

And then they heard a siren.

It wasn’t the Repairman’s. His siren light had been blinking this whole time, and he had it muted for a long time now anyway. But even if it was on, it definitely didn’t make a wail like “GEEEEEEEEETUUUUUUUUPGEEEEEEETUUUUUUP…”

Yup. That was the Breaker all right.

“There ‘e is,” he slurred, in a more defined accent, “We’re gettin’ close, boys.”

He really needed to get back soon. This body was not his.

Still, he raced as fast as he could to the source of the siren.

I grumbled, “Finally! I’ve been itching to go ruin somebody’s day for a while now!”
Psycho giggled, and I could see the Repairman visibly cringe as we walked/wheeled along the sidewalk.
Greasy pointed out, “uh…hey, boss? Where’s this Nega-Verse? How we gonna do anything if we don’t know where it is? What, do we like jump through a mirror or something?” -Smartass

The Repairman shook his head. “Nothing like that Wonderland stuff. I just go there.”

He pointed to his siren light.

“Just follow me and we should end up there pretty soon. This siren hasn’t failed me yet!”

…”Wonderland stuff”? he thought Why did I talk like that…? Ugh, gonna have to get unsculpted soon…

“Well exCU-USE me!”, drawled Greasy, his voice oozing sarcasm. “We only just learned about this Nega-Verse thing and don’t know what it does!”

Stupid butted in “Since we’re aligned as Chaotic Neutral, are the version of us in the Nega thingy good guys or bad guys?”

I turned to Stupid, “That’s the last question I’m allowing. It’s like we spent three weeks just bickering back and fourth and’ve gotten nothing done! So after the…nice little blob finishes explaining to us what the rules are, we can get to work!” -Smartass

The Repairman side-eyed the green weasel, but said nothing. It was a fair point.

“Well–” he began, turning to Stupid.

He was quickly interrupted by the pink one’s outburst. He winced as he hears slight creaks from the Wall, but thankfully nothing else came.

“…I don’t know,” he replied, diplomatically. “I guess we’ll find out.”

After a moment’s thought, he concluded there was nothing else really to discuss. Thus, he turned his wheelchair around and started pushing his wheels. He stopped to look at the Toon Patrol.

“All right, let’s go!”

After all, he wouldn’t want to be accused of running away or vigilantism.

“If there’s a Nega-verse,” began Greasy, “maybe the Nega-You is the one destroying walls. If there’s a Fourth Wall Repairman, there’s gotta be a Fourth Wall Destroyman.”

That….actually kinda made sense, I thought. Of course, I wasn’t gonna TELL Greasy that, but it’s the closest thing we got to a lead. An ACTUAL lead; because we don’t really feel like asking around. Thinking back on it, Bugs Bunny wouldn’t really want to destroy the walls he relies on, like I originally thought….

“Well, whaddya say, blob? Think that’s a solid lead?”

-Smartass

”Breaker,“ the Repairman muttered under his breath. ”Fourth Wall Breaker.“

If they were going to meet the anti-Repairman, the least they could do is give him the right title.

"Uh, yeah,” he replied, hastily, “it might’ve been him.”

Knowing the Breaker, the Repairman wasn’t sure whether or not it was. Still, it was possible. The Breaker could be almost as resourceful as him, after all…

“What’s a Nega-Verse??” Asked Stupid, bouncing around like an idiot, while being simultaneously confused.

I facepawed and just groaned. “A Nega-verse is a……” I trailed off, because I don’t know what that is. “Hey, blob. ” I called over to you, “what’s a Nega-Verse?”

-Smartass

"Oh, the Nega-verse is where…” he began, searching for the right words.

After a moment’s thought, he continued, “…the anti-you lives. Bad is good, good is bad, and your exact opposite looks a lot like you.”

He wondered if that made sense. It was hard to explain the difference between the Nega-Verse and Topsy-Turvy Town.

“Anyway,” he said, remembering he wanted out as soon as possible, “where’s our first lead?”

“We’ve been at this for 74 years, inky! We know what we’re doing. And we have good hunches of who started the rumors spreading, so we know who to ask!”

I snorted, “But as far as protection goes, you might need it! There’s worse things out there besides us, and whoever wants to frame you is probably dangerous. You’ll be….“safe” with us.“

-Smartass

"Uh-huh…”

He looked at his siren light, still peeking out from under his wig. The red flashes were well-concealed, true, but still noticeable if one took a closer look.

“…Out of curiosity, will we be stopping by the Nega-Verse? I gotta take this pretty soon…”

He was pretty sure that the Fourth Wall Breaker finally got up and did something for once. Oy.

“Well,” I said, smirking at your obviously discomfort. “Now that you’re in disguise, we should probably go back and interrogate some toons”

I walked full circle around you and said, “I think it’s best of you stayed back, thinking on it. Stupid, psycho and Wheezy can watch you; you may have somebody who’s out to get you, and you’ll need protection”

-Smartass

“Protection, eh?” he echoed, sweetly. He did not ask if he would need protection from his protectors. He would just have to avoid eye contact, he guessed. Especially eye contact with the straightjacketed one, who the Repairman guessed was “Psycho.”

In any case, there was another issue.

“Interrogate some toons?” he asked. “But you don’t have any leads! It could be anyone, from that time-traveling horse to that hairy…orange…er, spoon, to—”

Suddenly, his siren light popped up, gently pushing his wig upwards.

“…someone in the Nega-Verse?”

I blankly stared at your half baked form, reminiscent of a melting wax statue.

“This don’t work,” I said, patting you into shape like a kid with a sandcastle. “You gotta be more tall!”

After a couple of rolls and twists, irregardless of your protests, you were molded to the likeness of our brother…..except for the feet. Or lack there of.

“I guess we can say you were partially dipped in a freak accident twenty years ago and never got your feet redrawn.”

We heard a few punches landing behind us and Greasy emerged with a wheelchair. “Sorry Mr. Swanson,” sneered Greasy. “You can get the Family guy animators to draw you a new wheelchair. Official police business!”

“Here,” Greasy said, “Sit in this. I guess we’re….ready to roll.”

-Smartass

“Ow–Hey!–What’re you–!?–”

The Repairman struggled and protested, but at least he was looking more like a weasel.

He cringed at the Dip story, but he just sighed and took the wig and jacket. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long.

He jumped a bit as he heard the fisticuffs, the wig being flung out of place as he did so. It turned out to be the green weasel. Who apparently stole it from Swanson.

He was beginning to wonder if he’d be better off spending a day downtown. At least he’d have a form he was used to.

He clambered into the wheelchair, and tried to smile for the weasels.

“So, what now?” he asked, in a falsely cheerful voice.

“Yeah…you’re gonna need a gas mask if you’re gonna stick with us!” I laughed as the little blob hurriedly pulled on a gas mask.

“And as far as where to….you’re gonna go undercover with us. Can you shapeshift? Or do we gotta mold you like clay so you’re weasel shaped?” I asked, holding up a greaser wig and a James Dean motorcycle jacket.

“If we could shape you like a weasel, you could pass for our 6th brother, Slimy. He was reposed to be in the movie with us, but he got cut out before filming began. He and our other brother Flasher got involved with the summer of love in ‘67 and now they run a yoga studio in Frisco. Don’t believe me? Look up the production art. Anyway, can you do it?”

-Smartass

“I-I’ll do it myself,” the Repairman replied, hurriedly. He tossed the gas mask, pulled a privacy screen from stage right and got to work.

Let’s see…fingers here…ears there…bend a little…feel like my arms should be longer…

A few moments later, he emerged looking vaguely like a weasel, despite still being fairly short. He didn’t seem to walk, however; he seemed to shamble as if he was still a blob, but he was still holding his arms out for balance. It was clear he was not used to legs.

His eyes were still blank, and despite having the silhouette of a generic Toon Patrol member, he was still practically just that: a silhouette.

“Will this work?” he asked, his new mouth dripping with inconsistency and ink as he spoke. He really hoped these guys wouldn’t want to mess with his form further. Yeah, being shapeless wasn’t great, but whatever form he was supposed to have, this was not it.

I rolled my eyes and watched him scoop himself out like sticky black gelatin and snapped impatiently, “I told you; we’re both! Gangsters with badges. We got the law on our side, then we sometimes break it.”

I put my hands in my pockets, only to find that a smear or two….or three of ink from the little blob got on my suit somehow. I scowled, and pulled out a small vial of matching paint and a brush and dabbed the smears over with expert skill.

“So are we gonna get this started, or are we just gonna keep yakking back and forth with each other, buddy?”, asks Wheezy, before he breaks into a coughing fit.

-Smartass

“Right, right.”

He winced as the pink weasel noticed the stains. He silently thanked his lucky stars that it was an easy fix.

He peered through the clouds of smoke that appeared with the coughs. Oh, boy. He was gonna need to produce his gas mask, wasn’t he?

The Repairman pulled it over his head.

“Uh, all right,” he replied, somewhat muffled by the mask. "Where to?“