Post by chelonianmobile on Mar 6, 2011 18:57:30 GMT -5
Warnings: ... since they're Toons, does forced pattycake count as non/dub-con? 'Specially since the characters are even more confused about whether it counts than I am? Well, I should warn anyway. I'm assuming for the purposes of the story that it CAN be played innocently by Toons, as small children play it in a lot of cartoons, though I'm unsure how they tell the difference between that and the metaphorical kind, but it makes as much sense as anything in this movie. Also contains some bad language, darkly humorous use of a thoroughly horrible song, and the pairing is slash between two highly politically-incorrect, dubiously-attractive, and thoroughly sleazy characters (namely one blatant Latino stereotype and one nutcase with a straight-razor). Also, characters' views are not necessarily mine. The full lyrics of the song used are very, very R-rated, but I only used some of it - still PG-13 for gore, though. Just be warned if you try to Google it.
I don't think this goes over the board's PG-13 limit, but if it does, tell me and I'll take it down.
Notes: I'm aware the song used wasn't actually written till 2008 and the canon's set in 1947, but given how loosely based on reality the canon is anyway and the fact that none of the content of the song proves it couldn't come from before then (admittedly I don't think it would have ever been released on record or TV back then, but it's not like they didn't have songs with dirty words or creepy content in and before the 40s), I figured it was workable. Song is entitled "Miss Lucy Had Some Leeches" and is (c) Emilie Autumn, characters are (c) the various studios involved in the making of Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and I'm not affiliated with any of the aforementioned.
~~
"Mierda!"
Greasy stared in horror at the mess in the bathroom. Psycho, giggling, looked up from where he was sitting in a rapidly-spreading pool of hair oil - Greasy's hair oil, to be exact. His straitjacket was stained and slimy, and his trademark spiky headfur was slicked down on his skull. He tried to stand up and slipped on the oily floor tiles, yelping briefly as his nose smacked into the floor and then giggling again. Greasy carefully stepped around the puddles on the floor, picked up the bottle, and tipped it. One solitary drop oozed out and landed on the floor with a quiet splat.
"You little ... this stuff's expensive!" he snapped, shaking the bottle at Psycho. "This was my last bottle, too!"
Psycho was literally rolling on the floor laughing. Greasy kicked him solidly in the gut with one pointy-tipped shoe.
"Ow!"
"Stop laughing! You know the rules - what if the boss hears you? And you're cleaning up this mess."
"Don't wanna!" Psycho pouted and splashed his paws in the oil.
"You clean it up or I mop it up with your ugly face, you understand me?" Greasy dropped the bottle in the trashcan and pointed threateningly at his workmate. Psycho reached out to grab the wagging finger, missed, and shuffled forwards on his knees, reaching out as if to hug the other weasel.
"Awww, don't be mean! I just wanted to play, heeheehee!"
Greasy's eyes widened and he raised his paws to protect himself. "No, don't touch me while you're covered in-"
Psycho's eyes lit up as his paws made contact with Greasy's, palms resting lightly together. Greasy was too surprised to push him away.
Very slowly, looking curiously at his paws as if watching them move of their own accord, Psycho drew his paws back and pressed them together, then moved them back to the other weasel's, making a soft clap sound, muffled by the soaked canvas of his straitjacket sleeves. He repeated the motion, faster, faster again.
It took Greasy a moment to realise Psycho was singing softly. He'd heard Psycho sing before, usually horribly. He wasn't sounding quite as bad as usual now, probably because he wasn't screeching at the top of his lungs.
"Miss Lucy had some leeches, her leeches liked to suck, and when they drank up all her blood she didn't give a-"
This was weird. Should he stop him? Greasy tried to back away and found himself pressed against the bathroom wall, Psycho never missing a beat in the clapping routine as he followed him, still on his knees.
"-no-one left a-live-ly little rodents are eaten up by cats, we're subject to experiments like lab'ratory rats-"
Did he even understand what he was doing? Greasy definitely didn't. Okay, it looked like a decidedly one-sided game of pattycake, but was it just that, an innocent game, or was it the humourously metaphorical type? Toon courtship was a complicated thing, and just about any activity could be turned into an intimate one in some way. Greasy had always figured he knew most of what there was to know about it; he'd engaged in games of this nature with plenty of female Toons of various species, and dropped the metaphor for more interesting and less audience-safe activities on numerous occasions. Sadly, he didn't know anything about what Psycho was thinking, or even if Psycho was thinking.
"-I'm on my hands and knees until I've paid for my mis-take off all your clothing, we've only just begun-"
Against his better judgment, Greasy joined in the clapping routine, soon finding himself struggling to keep up. He had to admit, Psycho knew some good moves; left paw, right paw, double-clap, sideways, up, down, thigh-slap ... He had to have done this before. With whom? Now there was a big old barrelful of nightmare fuel. Had he done this with another guy? If he had, was it just the game or ...? Kissing another male was one thing, it was an important part of a lot of Toon gags, but to openly do anything more was just as frowned on among Toons as among humans. Even if it was only metaphorical. Though since weasels were supposed to be the bad guys anyway, maybe it didn't count ...
"-damn that nitrous oxide for when you can't escape, they say the surgeons oft commit a murder or a ra-zor blades are rusty-"
Psycho's paws were moving fast enough to blur, his eyes were gleaming, and his chanting of the sinister little ditty grew faster and faster with his movements. On the word "razor", he plucked his own razor from his jacket and twirled it, adding flashing silver to the routine. Greasy winced, but both of them kept all their fingers.
"-she's been in chains for ages and she isn't even mad-ness is a nuisance and no-one is immune-"
Uh-oh. If Psycho did mean it that way, did joining in make him a fruit as well? Well, actually, now he thought about it, he wasn't even entirely sure Psycho was male. He was short and squeaky-voiced and a straitjacket isn't exactly a gender-specific item of clothing, it was hard to tell ... or maybe that was wishful thinking. The topic had never really come up before, and now probably wasn't the best time to start worrying about it. It didn't make much difference anyway, given that Psycho was still, well, himself.
Regardless, now he'd started he didn't dare stop. Psycho was well-named and could be very precisely violent when displeased. Theoretically nothing he could do without access to the Dip would kill another Toon, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt. At least he also had a short enough attention span that he'd probably soon forget about this incident. Preferably before he said anything about it in front of the other guys. Then again, if he did they probably wouldn't believe him ... At least, Greasy hoped not. He'd get laughed out of the Patrol if they did.
"-phlebotomy's a chore, no need to sterilise the tools, we never did be-fore the night is over-"
How long was this song? Greasy's wrists were starting to ache, and he was pretty sure he'd be hearing Psycho's eerie voice in his nightmares for quite some time. Fortunately, as it turned out, it was nearly over by this point.
"-head-stones in the courtyard and statues in the park are not for the insane, just leave 'em rotting in the D-A-R-K dark dark dark dark DARK!"
Psycho gleefully shouted the last word, giving one final slap to Greasy's paws hard enough to knock him slightly backwards - only "slightly" because his back was already against the wall. Greasy blinked, stunned, more so when he realised Psycho was now looking him in the eye instead of watching his paws. And he still hadn't let go. Oil from the straitjacket sleeves seeped between Greasy's fingers as Psycho looked up at him with a big-eyed, beseeching smile. The silence dragged out awkwardly until Greasy managed to clear his throat and say "Can I have my hands back now?"
Psycho sagged a little and lost his smile, but did as he was told, not breaking eye contact. Greasy edged carefully towards the door. Psycho looked really disappointed. He should probably leave before disappointment turned into vengefulness. He reached desperately for the door handle, oily paw slipping on the metal. Just as he was really starting to panic, he realised Psycho's lip was trembling. The small weasel's eyes slowed their usual swirling motion as they started to fill up with tears.
"Wh-where're you going?" he sniffled.
"I, uh ... oh, don't cry, Santa Maria, don't cry ..." Greasy wasn't sure what to do. He still wanted to run, but if Psycho attracted the attention of the others they'd ask what was going on. He tried to imagine explaining the situation to Smartass, Wheezy, and Stupid, and decided his better option was to shut Psycho up. Awkwardly, he offered his handkerchief. Psycho took it and chewed on it nervously, ignoring its filthy condition. His eyes were still watering. Greasy patted his head tentatively. "C'mon, calm down ... Wait, why am I feeling sorry for you? You just ... well, I don't know what you did, but you shouldn't have!"
"'m sorry, I thought you wanted to play," Psycho mumbled. Greasy looked sharply at him, but saw only honesty in his face. Psycho was not by any stretch of the imagination a good person, or weasel, but he wasn't coherent enough to be intentionally deceptive.
"Uh, I ... well ... look, you're really s'posed to warn folks before you do that, awright? Might give 'em the wrong idea. Heh, I thought for a minute you meant it like ... ehehe." Greasy chuckled, as if the idea was ludicrous.
"Huh?"
Greasy sighed. Hell no, he was not going to give The Talk to Psycho. No way. He'd see if he could find some way to quietly bring up the potential need for the discussion with Smartass and Wheezy without implicating himself. They'd probably still rope him into helping, but he was damned if he was going to suffer the crushing embarrassment alone. "Okay, looks like we have a misunderstanding here. You were just playing a game, yeah?"
"Y-yeah."
"Well, I wasn't really sure what you were doing, and, uh ..."
"Oh!" The penny apparently dropped, as Psycho's eyes widened and he shuffled backwards, shaking his head and blushing - being a Toon, the blush was clearly visible under his fur. Greasy sighed with relief; looked like he wouldn't have to explain. "No, no, that's not what I meant!"
"Good," Greasy chuckled, patting Psycho's head again. "For a moment there I thought you, well, had a thing for me or somethin' ..." He caught the look on Psycho's face, and his eyes widened. "Uh. Do you?"
Psycho looked down and unconvincingly mumbled "... No?"
Greasy sat down heavily on the edge of the bath. "... You are a guy, right?"
"Uh, yeah?" Psycho blinked in confusion.
"Damn."
"'m sorry," Psycho squeaked, shuffling away.
"Ah, it's okay," Greasy sighed. "I guess if you could have stopped it you would, yeah?" Psycho nodded. "Guess I can't blame you then - hey, it's me we're talking about," Greasy said smugly.
Psycho poked him gently and giggled nervously. "So it's okay?" he said, smiling hopefully. Greasy paused before answering. Dammit, Psycho looked adorable ... yeah, maybe this wasn't as much of a disaster as he'd thought.
"Well ..." he said slowly. "Nobody's gonna like it. But hey, we're weasels - we're s'posed to be the bad guys. When did we ever care what anyone else would think?" He grinned as Psycho's eyes lit up, and scratched the smaller weasel's ears affectionately. "Yeah. It's okay."
Psycho suddenly grabbed him by the collar, yanked him down, and planted a kiss on his nosetip. Before Greasy could respond, Psycho had scurried out the door, giggling and trailing oily pawprints.
Greasy tried to follow him, but stepped in the oil, slipped, and landed flat on his back.
"Hey!" he shouted down the hallway. "This is NOT gonna get you out of cleaning up!"
I don't think this goes over the board's PG-13 limit, but if it does, tell me and I'll take it down.
Notes: I'm aware the song used wasn't actually written till 2008 and the canon's set in 1947, but given how loosely based on reality the canon is anyway and the fact that none of the content of the song proves it couldn't come from before then (admittedly I don't think it would have ever been released on record or TV back then, but it's not like they didn't have songs with dirty words or creepy content in and before the 40s), I figured it was workable. Song is entitled "Miss Lucy Had Some Leeches" and is (c) Emilie Autumn, characters are (c) the various studios involved in the making of Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and I'm not affiliated with any of the aforementioned.
~~
"Mierda!"
Greasy stared in horror at the mess in the bathroom. Psycho, giggling, looked up from where he was sitting in a rapidly-spreading pool of hair oil - Greasy's hair oil, to be exact. His straitjacket was stained and slimy, and his trademark spiky headfur was slicked down on his skull. He tried to stand up and slipped on the oily floor tiles, yelping briefly as his nose smacked into the floor and then giggling again. Greasy carefully stepped around the puddles on the floor, picked up the bottle, and tipped it. One solitary drop oozed out and landed on the floor with a quiet splat.
"You little ... this stuff's expensive!" he snapped, shaking the bottle at Psycho. "This was my last bottle, too!"
Psycho was literally rolling on the floor laughing. Greasy kicked him solidly in the gut with one pointy-tipped shoe.
"Ow!"
"Stop laughing! You know the rules - what if the boss hears you? And you're cleaning up this mess."
"Don't wanna!" Psycho pouted and splashed his paws in the oil.
"You clean it up or I mop it up with your ugly face, you understand me?" Greasy dropped the bottle in the trashcan and pointed threateningly at his workmate. Psycho reached out to grab the wagging finger, missed, and shuffled forwards on his knees, reaching out as if to hug the other weasel.
"Awww, don't be mean! I just wanted to play, heeheehee!"
Greasy's eyes widened and he raised his paws to protect himself. "No, don't touch me while you're covered in-"
Psycho's eyes lit up as his paws made contact with Greasy's, palms resting lightly together. Greasy was too surprised to push him away.
Very slowly, looking curiously at his paws as if watching them move of their own accord, Psycho drew his paws back and pressed them together, then moved them back to the other weasel's, making a soft clap sound, muffled by the soaked canvas of his straitjacket sleeves. He repeated the motion, faster, faster again.
It took Greasy a moment to realise Psycho was singing softly. He'd heard Psycho sing before, usually horribly. He wasn't sounding quite as bad as usual now, probably because he wasn't screeching at the top of his lungs.
"Miss Lucy had some leeches, her leeches liked to suck, and when they drank up all her blood she didn't give a-"
This was weird. Should he stop him? Greasy tried to back away and found himself pressed against the bathroom wall, Psycho never missing a beat in the clapping routine as he followed him, still on his knees.
"-no-one left a-live-ly little rodents are eaten up by cats, we're subject to experiments like lab'ratory rats-"
Did he even understand what he was doing? Greasy definitely didn't. Okay, it looked like a decidedly one-sided game of pattycake, but was it just that, an innocent game, or was it the humourously metaphorical type? Toon courtship was a complicated thing, and just about any activity could be turned into an intimate one in some way. Greasy had always figured he knew most of what there was to know about it; he'd engaged in games of this nature with plenty of female Toons of various species, and dropped the metaphor for more interesting and less audience-safe activities on numerous occasions. Sadly, he didn't know anything about what Psycho was thinking, or even if Psycho was thinking.
"-I'm on my hands and knees until I've paid for my mis-take off all your clothing, we've only just begun-"
Against his better judgment, Greasy joined in the clapping routine, soon finding himself struggling to keep up. He had to admit, Psycho knew some good moves; left paw, right paw, double-clap, sideways, up, down, thigh-slap ... He had to have done this before. With whom? Now there was a big old barrelful of nightmare fuel. Had he done this with another guy? If he had, was it just the game or ...? Kissing another male was one thing, it was an important part of a lot of Toon gags, but to openly do anything more was just as frowned on among Toons as among humans. Even if it was only metaphorical. Though since weasels were supposed to be the bad guys anyway, maybe it didn't count ...
"-damn that nitrous oxide for when you can't escape, they say the surgeons oft commit a murder or a ra-zor blades are rusty-"
Psycho's paws were moving fast enough to blur, his eyes were gleaming, and his chanting of the sinister little ditty grew faster and faster with his movements. On the word "razor", he plucked his own razor from his jacket and twirled it, adding flashing silver to the routine. Greasy winced, but both of them kept all their fingers.
"-she's been in chains for ages and she isn't even mad-ness is a nuisance and no-one is immune-"
Uh-oh. If Psycho did mean it that way, did joining in make him a fruit as well? Well, actually, now he thought about it, he wasn't even entirely sure Psycho was male. He was short and squeaky-voiced and a straitjacket isn't exactly a gender-specific item of clothing, it was hard to tell ... or maybe that was wishful thinking. The topic had never really come up before, and now probably wasn't the best time to start worrying about it. It didn't make much difference anyway, given that Psycho was still, well, himself.
Regardless, now he'd started he didn't dare stop. Psycho was well-named and could be very precisely violent when displeased. Theoretically nothing he could do without access to the Dip would kill another Toon, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt. At least he also had a short enough attention span that he'd probably soon forget about this incident. Preferably before he said anything about it in front of the other guys. Then again, if he did they probably wouldn't believe him ... At least, Greasy hoped not. He'd get laughed out of the Patrol if they did.
"-phlebotomy's a chore, no need to sterilise the tools, we never did be-fore the night is over-"
How long was this song? Greasy's wrists were starting to ache, and he was pretty sure he'd be hearing Psycho's eerie voice in his nightmares for quite some time. Fortunately, as it turned out, it was nearly over by this point.
"-head-stones in the courtyard and statues in the park are not for the insane, just leave 'em rotting in the D-A-R-K dark dark dark dark DARK!"
Psycho gleefully shouted the last word, giving one final slap to Greasy's paws hard enough to knock him slightly backwards - only "slightly" because his back was already against the wall. Greasy blinked, stunned, more so when he realised Psycho was now looking him in the eye instead of watching his paws. And he still hadn't let go. Oil from the straitjacket sleeves seeped between Greasy's fingers as Psycho looked up at him with a big-eyed, beseeching smile. The silence dragged out awkwardly until Greasy managed to clear his throat and say "Can I have my hands back now?"
Psycho sagged a little and lost his smile, but did as he was told, not breaking eye contact. Greasy edged carefully towards the door. Psycho looked really disappointed. He should probably leave before disappointment turned into vengefulness. He reached desperately for the door handle, oily paw slipping on the metal. Just as he was really starting to panic, he realised Psycho's lip was trembling. The small weasel's eyes slowed their usual swirling motion as they started to fill up with tears.
"Wh-where're you going?" he sniffled.
"I, uh ... oh, don't cry, Santa Maria, don't cry ..." Greasy wasn't sure what to do. He still wanted to run, but if Psycho attracted the attention of the others they'd ask what was going on. He tried to imagine explaining the situation to Smartass, Wheezy, and Stupid, and decided his better option was to shut Psycho up. Awkwardly, he offered his handkerchief. Psycho took it and chewed on it nervously, ignoring its filthy condition. His eyes were still watering. Greasy patted his head tentatively. "C'mon, calm down ... Wait, why am I feeling sorry for you? You just ... well, I don't know what you did, but you shouldn't have!"
"'m sorry, I thought you wanted to play," Psycho mumbled. Greasy looked sharply at him, but saw only honesty in his face. Psycho was not by any stretch of the imagination a good person, or weasel, but he wasn't coherent enough to be intentionally deceptive.
"Uh, I ... well ... look, you're really s'posed to warn folks before you do that, awright? Might give 'em the wrong idea. Heh, I thought for a minute you meant it like ... ehehe." Greasy chuckled, as if the idea was ludicrous.
"Huh?"
Greasy sighed. Hell no, he was not going to give The Talk to Psycho. No way. He'd see if he could find some way to quietly bring up the potential need for the discussion with Smartass and Wheezy without implicating himself. They'd probably still rope him into helping, but he was damned if he was going to suffer the crushing embarrassment alone. "Okay, looks like we have a misunderstanding here. You were just playing a game, yeah?"
"Y-yeah."
"Well, I wasn't really sure what you were doing, and, uh ..."
"Oh!" The penny apparently dropped, as Psycho's eyes widened and he shuffled backwards, shaking his head and blushing - being a Toon, the blush was clearly visible under his fur. Greasy sighed with relief; looked like he wouldn't have to explain. "No, no, that's not what I meant!"
"Good," Greasy chuckled, patting Psycho's head again. "For a moment there I thought you, well, had a thing for me or somethin' ..." He caught the look on Psycho's face, and his eyes widened. "Uh. Do you?"
Psycho looked down and unconvincingly mumbled "... No?"
Greasy sat down heavily on the edge of the bath. "... You are a guy, right?"
"Uh, yeah?" Psycho blinked in confusion.
"Damn."
"'m sorry," Psycho squeaked, shuffling away.
"Ah, it's okay," Greasy sighed. "I guess if you could have stopped it you would, yeah?" Psycho nodded. "Guess I can't blame you then - hey, it's me we're talking about," Greasy said smugly.
Psycho poked him gently and giggled nervously. "So it's okay?" he said, smiling hopefully. Greasy paused before answering. Dammit, Psycho looked adorable ... yeah, maybe this wasn't as much of a disaster as he'd thought.
"Well ..." he said slowly. "Nobody's gonna like it. But hey, we're weasels - we're s'posed to be the bad guys. When did we ever care what anyone else would think?" He grinned as Psycho's eyes lit up, and scratched the smaller weasel's ears affectionately. "Yeah. It's okay."
Psycho suddenly grabbed him by the collar, yanked him down, and planted a kiss on his nosetip. Before Greasy could respond, Psycho had scurried out the door, giggling and trailing oily pawprints.
Greasy tried to follow him, but stepped in the oil, slipped, and landed flat on his back.
"Hey!" he shouted down the hallway. "This is NOT gonna get you out of cleaning up!"
