Six months ago...
The Disney studios has many secrets. Some of them are for its own preservation. Others serve its own creative amusement. And then there are those secrets which exist simply because they've become overlooked over time. Club 16 1/2 was a secret of that third variety.
Leftover from the golden years of animation, Club 16 1/2 had been a popular hangout spot for the numerous creatures of Silly Symphony fame when they weren't working in front of or behind the camera lenses. As the studio had evolved throughout the decades, the club entrance wound up facing away from the pedestrian traffic which was already minimal in that part of the grounds; almost like a back door to an unmarked building. In fact, it was unlikely that anyone who had joined the Disney family later than the mid-nineties was even aware of its existence. As such, the club had a bit of a nostalgic charm for the veterans of animation.
The place was now run by Toby Tortoise, who was certainly not the quickest counter-reptile, but he knew the precision ingredients of concoctions long thought lost. Anything from sarsaparilla floats to gooseberry daiquiris; if you knew how to order it, he knew how to make it.
It was a rarity to see any character of reasonable significance cross the threshold, so when Daisy Duck appeared in the doorway she found herself bombarded with greetings from Bucky Bug, Peter Pig, and every other alliterative name on the block. The upside to the inconvenient attention was the extra time it gave Toby to assemble the remainder of the drink order she'd called in.
"There ya go, Miss Duck," the tortoise gleamed triumphantly, "One pitcher of chocolate marshmallow Cointreau. What's the occasion?"
"It's Oswald's homecoming. Finally. Mickey thought a taste of the classic era would be a nice touch."
"Oswald?" said Toby, clearly behind the event. "When did we get him back?"
"Oh, you know..." Daisy held her tongue. It had been ten years since the trade, and the lucky rabbit was just now being given an office space. "Recently."
"Hey soda jerk!" came an irritated voice at the end of the counter. "Is this the self-service line?"
"Be right there, sir?" said Toby cheerfully.
Daisy cocked her head to the side. She knew that unmistakable lisp anywhere.
"Daffy?"
It was him; the little black duck with the white collar from the other terrace. He looked in her direction with two of the saddest eyes she'd ever seen on a duck. Daisy waddled over to him, passing Toby along the way.
"How did you get here?" she asked.
Daffy held up his keychain ID with the Roger Rabbit production stamp on it. "You guys have some really outdated security systems. And yet I still can't get a fast pass with it."
Daisy sat down at the neighboring stool. "Has something happened?"
Daffy set his beak on the countertop. "No. I just come here to think. Clear my head. Mope. And you? What's a VIP like you doing in the treasure vault like this?"
"Today is Oswald's official first day as an executive."
"Great," snorted Daffy. "More power to the rabbits."
The two ducks sat in silence while Toby made the last few steps over to the end of the counter. "And what can I get for my fine feathered friends?"
Daffy waved his hand dismissively. "Just give me something I'm gonna hate."
Daisy smiled. "Tom and Jerry, declawed".
Toby nodded and began the hike back to the other end of the counter. "Take your time," Daffy muttered, "I'm not going anywhere."
Daisy waited until the tortoise was respectfully out of earshot to speak again. "So what is this about Daffy?"
The WB duck drew in a slow breath. "It's really nothing out of the ordinary. It just gets to me sometimes. He gets to me."
"Bugs?"
"That carrot chomping, overbite-" Daffy erupted before realizing every other patron had taken notice of his conversation. "Yeah. Some days, it just really ruffles my feathers. I guess today is one of those days."
"So, do I understand that after seventy-five years, you still feel like he stole your thunder?"
"I don't know." Daffy set his bill in his hand. "I don't know what I'm feeling."
"I mean, if you don't mind me saying, didn't you horn in on Porky's territory?"
"Nah, Porky was fine with it. But the studio takes this sadistic glee in pitting us against each other. And it's ALWAYS the same result. 'Let's laugh at the duck'."
Daisy gave him a compassionate nod. "You're still getting laughs Daffy. They may be written at your expense, but people love you a lot more than you realize. I mean, don't you think anyone in this room would give their golden voice actor for your career?"
Daffy sighed. "Yeah, they are pretty pathetic, aren't they?" He checked his watch, dreading the ritual pummeling the studio had him scheduled for later that day. "What about you? Don't you ever get tired of playing second banana to that bow-headed rodent?"
"Well yes and no," Daisy admitted. "I always grumble inside a little whenever I walk past her statue on the Main Street hub. But then I think, second banana isn't a bad place to be. There's a certain freedom when eyes aren't always on you, and you don't always have to live up to the company's expectations. The top just seems boring to me."
Daffy's face softened a little. Maybe not to the point of smiling, but his disposition became a hair more optimistic. "You are one cel of Iwerks, Daisy."
She giggled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Toby had returned with their drink orders, and each duck picked up their respective glasses.
"Just try not to forget," said Daisy, "We have something a lot of people don't have. A reason. For doing what we do."
Daffy sneered. "The stupid little kids."
Daisy clinked her glass against his. "To the stupid little kids then," and they both drank.
Daffy's mouthful never made it down his throat, as he spat it out almost instantly before giving Toby an accusatory glare. "CARROT JUICE?"
And several stories up in the executive building, Pete was beating a keyboard into submission with his index fingers while crooked letters and symbols popped up all over the computer screen. Mickey Mouse and Oswald the Lucky Rabbit stood on the sidelines, amazed at the sheer passion the large cat-dog-bear-whatever hybrid was investing in the task at hand.
Pete leaned back into the poor easy chair that was straining to support his weight. Satisfied with the mess of code he was seeing, Pete turned to Oswald and gestured to the security checkpoint. "Dere. Dat should do it."
Oswald stepped through the archway, greeted by a green light accompanied by a pleasant ding.
"It's official, you're in the system!" Mickey laughed. "Swell job Pete!"
The big guy ignored the compliment. "Bout time too. Now listen runt, this here's my pal! I expect ya to take good care a'him, see?"
Mickey gave him a half-serious salute. "Sure thing, Pete. You can count on me."
"And you!" He pointed at Oswald, never having quite figured out the difference between 'encouraging' and 'threatening'. "Doncha be afraid to speak up, ya hear? You and me've been in dis business longer'an anyone here. You got ideas? You make 'em listen to ya. You got it?"
Oswald nodded his head. "I got it. Thanks Pete."
"Now off with the both of ya! Some of us got work ta do."
Mickey just shook his head, giving Oswald a smile. He followed the rabbit through the archway, which suddenly lit up in red lights while the sound of an elderly woman's scream filled the hallway on a loop. Pete gave them both an embarrassed look, followed by a grimace when batting the side of the monitor didn't solve the problem. He finally just shooed them both out of the room with assurances that he could "fix dat".
The mouse and rabbit scurried down the hall passing Clarabelle and Donald, both of whom had poked their heads out to see what was going on. They breathed easy once they got to where they could hear themselves again. "Gosh, Oswald. I had no idea you and Pete were so close."
"Hey, I'm as surprised as you are," said Oswald. "I guess age leads to sentiment."
"Well, welcome aboard!"
Mickey led the rabbit into the main reception area, presenting it like it was a World's Fair exhibit. Oswald had been up there a few times before, but the furniture had been rearranged to accommodate several tables and chairs for the in-house lunch that was going to take place later. From the ceiling hung a banner that read 'Welcome Home Oswald'. Several staff members of varying species stepped away from their work to applaud his entrance.
Oswald blushed. "You guys didn't have to do this for me."
"Aw, it's the least we could do. That's Wendy, from H&R. Belle is our resident librarian. And I think you've met everybody else."
Oswald waved politely. "So this is where the magic happens."
"Nah, the real magicians are downstairs in the studio. This is where the seeds of magic are planted. Come on, I'll show you your desk. You're gonna love the view." Mickey guided Oswald down the side wing, pointing out the music hall and two meeting rooms. "Gideon and Foulfellow," he chuckled. "Named for their size. There're schedules on the doors in case anybody really needs 'em, but otherwise you can just go in there whenever. And this-"
Mickey ushered him into a nearly empty room with a small desk and chair and white grease boards for walls. On the desk sat a stack of paper and a single black marker. It was almost like walking into a blank page. For Oswald, it was perfect.
Mickey continued. "-is your home base. In a half hour or so, Horace'll bring the idea wagon around. I told him to give you first dibs on anything that strikes your fancy."
"How do ideas get in the idea wagon in the first place?"
"The board meets at least once a week. Anything that might have potential goes in the wagon."
Oswald sat in the chair, adjusted the height, and gave it a test spin. "And how do ideas get to the board?"
"Everybody's doors are always open. Like Pete says, if ya got something," Mickey pre-emptively giggled at his own joke, "I'm all ears."
Oswald leaned back in his chair and fidgeted with his marker, debating whether or not this was the time. He decided there wasn't a time, except for the one you made. "New stories with old characters."
"Like, sequels?"
"No, like crossovers. Like House of Mouse but without the cartoons." Oswald took a beat to see how Mickey reacted. It didn't seem like the mouse was entirely sold on the idea, so Oswald pushed it a little more. "What if the queen from Snow White had to stand trial for her actions, and they held it in the court from Mr. Toad? Or how would Lambert the Sheepish Lion be treated in Zootopia? Disney has a vast landscape of characters who got one shot at the limelight. What if we dropped those boundaries and let anybody interact with anybody else?"
Mickey shifted uncomfortably. "Gosh, I don't know. Do you really want somebody like Chernabog wanderin' around Sherwood Forest?"
"Well, that's just one example that doesn't work. What about somebody like Lampwick? Didn't you feel like there was a lot more to that story? Suppose Kenai finds him. Or maybe the lost boys are able to help the rest of those donkeys. Or what about the coachman? He never gets any comeuppance. Suppose he kidnaps a child and it shows up on the radar of the Rescuers."
Mickey had to admit, the idea had potential. In fact, there were a lot of possibilities. He still didn't think the board would go for it, at least not in the way Oswald was pitching it. But the rabbit clearly believed in the idea. And that had to count for something.
"If you don't mind me asking," said Mickey, "what was it that inspired this?"
Oswald absentmindedly popped the top off his marker and replaced it. "I have a second chance. To shine. To prove that there's life in me. How many others are there who want that, and never get it?" He lay the marker back on the desk and sat up straight in his chair. "There are a lot of great personalities in the Disney family and we only got to scratch their surface. I want them to have a shot."
Mickey smiled at Oswald, not his default smile, but a deeply personal one that only a select few had ever seen. "You're right," he said. "I'll pitch it to the board this afternoon."
"I mean," said Oswald, "The worst thing that can happen is they say 'no', right?"
Continue to Chapter Nine
Return to the table of contents.
It was a rarity to see any character of reasonable significance cross the threshold, so when Daisy Duck appeared in the doorway she found herself bombarded with greetings from Bucky Bug, Peter Pig, and every other alliterative name on the block. The upside to the inconvenient attention was the extra time it gave Toby to assemble the remainder of the drink order she'd called in.
"There ya go, Miss Duck," the tortoise gleamed triumphantly, "One pitcher of chocolate marshmallow Cointreau. What's the occasion?"
"It's Oswald's homecoming. Finally. Mickey thought a taste of the classic era would be a nice touch."
"Oswald?" said Toby, clearly behind the event. "When did we get him back?"
"Oh, you know..." Daisy held her tongue. It had been ten years since the trade, and the lucky rabbit was just now being given an office space. "Recently."
"Hey soda jerk!" came an irritated voice at the end of the counter. "Is this the self-service line?"
"Be right there, sir?" said Toby cheerfully.
Daisy cocked her head to the side. She knew that unmistakable lisp anywhere.
"Daffy?"
It was him; the little black duck with the white collar from the other terrace. He looked in her direction with two of the saddest eyes she'd ever seen on a duck. Daisy waddled over to him, passing Toby along the way.
"How did you get here?" she asked.
Daffy held up his keychain ID with the Roger Rabbit production stamp on it. "You guys have some really outdated security systems. And yet I still can't get a fast pass with it."
Daisy sat down at the neighboring stool. "Has something happened?"
Daffy set his beak on the countertop. "No. I just come here to think. Clear my head. Mope. And you? What's a VIP like you doing in the treasure vault like this?"
"Today is Oswald's official first day as an executive."
"Great," snorted Daffy. "More power to the rabbits."
The two ducks sat in silence while Toby made the last few steps over to the end of the counter. "And what can I get for my fine feathered friends?"
Daffy waved his hand dismissively. "Just give me something I'm gonna hate."
Daisy smiled. "Tom and Jerry, declawed".
Toby nodded and began the hike back to the other end of the counter. "Take your time," Daffy muttered, "I'm not going anywhere."
Daisy waited until the tortoise was respectfully out of earshot to speak again. "So what is this about Daffy?"
The WB duck drew in a slow breath. "It's really nothing out of the ordinary. It just gets to me sometimes. He gets to me."
"Bugs?"
"That carrot chomping, overbite-" Daffy erupted before realizing every other patron had taken notice of his conversation. "Yeah. Some days, it just really ruffles my feathers. I guess today is one of those days."
"So, do I understand that after seventy-five years, you still feel like he stole your thunder?"
"I don't know." Daffy set his bill in his hand. "I don't know what I'm feeling."
"I mean, if you don't mind me saying, didn't you horn in on Porky's territory?"
"Nah, Porky was fine with it. But the studio takes this sadistic glee in pitting us against each other. And it's ALWAYS the same result. 'Let's laugh at the duck'."
Daisy gave him a compassionate nod. "You're still getting laughs Daffy. They may be written at your expense, but people love you a lot more than you realize. I mean, don't you think anyone in this room would give their golden voice actor for your career?"
Daffy sighed. "Yeah, they are pretty pathetic, aren't they?" He checked his watch, dreading the ritual pummeling the studio had him scheduled for later that day. "What about you? Don't you ever get tired of playing second banana to that bow-headed rodent?"
"Well yes and no," Daisy admitted. "I always grumble inside a little whenever I walk past her statue on the Main Street hub. But then I think, second banana isn't a bad place to be. There's a certain freedom when eyes aren't always on you, and you don't always have to live up to the company's expectations. The top just seems boring to me."
Daffy's face softened a little. Maybe not to the point of smiling, but his disposition became a hair more optimistic. "You are one cel of Iwerks, Daisy."
She giggled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Toby had returned with their drink orders, and each duck picked up their respective glasses.
"Just try not to forget," said Daisy, "We have something a lot of people don't have. A reason. For doing what we do."
Daffy sneered. "The stupid little kids."
Daisy clinked her glass against his. "To the stupid little kids then," and they both drank.
Daffy's mouthful never made it down his throat, as he spat it out almost instantly before giving Toby an accusatory glare. "CARROT JUICE?"
And several stories up in the executive building, Pete was beating a keyboard into submission with his index fingers while crooked letters and symbols popped up all over the computer screen. Mickey Mouse and Oswald the Lucky Rabbit stood on the sidelines, amazed at the sheer passion the large cat-dog-bear-whatever hybrid was investing in the task at hand.
Pete leaned back into the poor easy chair that was straining to support his weight. Satisfied with the mess of code he was seeing, Pete turned to Oswald and gestured to the security checkpoint. "Dere. Dat should do it."
Oswald stepped through the archway, greeted by a green light accompanied by a pleasant ding.
"It's official, you're in the system!" Mickey laughed. "Swell job Pete!"
The big guy ignored the compliment. "Bout time too. Now listen runt, this here's my pal! I expect ya to take good care a'him, see?"
Mickey gave him a half-serious salute. "Sure thing, Pete. You can count on me."
"And you!" He pointed at Oswald, never having quite figured out the difference between 'encouraging' and 'threatening'. "Doncha be afraid to speak up, ya hear? You and me've been in dis business longer'an anyone here. You got ideas? You make 'em listen to ya. You got it?"
Oswald nodded his head. "I got it. Thanks Pete."
"Now off with the both of ya! Some of us got work ta do."
Mickey just shook his head, giving Oswald a smile. He followed the rabbit through the archway, which suddenly lit up in red lights while the sound of an elderly woman's scream filled the hallway on a loop. Pete gave them both an embarrassed look, followed by a grimace when batting the side of the monitor didn't solve the problem. He finally just shooed them both out of the room with assurances that he could "fix dat".
The mouse and rabbit scurried down the hall passing Clarabelle and Donald, both of whom had poked their heads out to see what was going on. They breathed easy once they got to where they could hear themselves again. "Gosh, Oswald. I had no idea you and Pete were so close."
"Hey, I'm as surprised as you are," said Oswald. "I guess age leads to sentiment."
"Well, welcome aboard!"
Mickey led the rabbit into the main reception area, presenting it like it was a World's Fair exhibit. Oswald had been up there a few times before, but the furniture had been rearranged to accommodate several tables and chairs for the in-house lunch that was going to take place later. From the ceiling hung a banner that read 'Welcome Home Oswald'. Several staff members of varying species stepped away from their work to applaud his entrance.
Oswald blushed. "You guys didn't have to do this for me."
"Aw, it's the least we could do. That's Wendy, from H&R. Belle is our resident librarian. And I think you've met everybody else."
Oswald waved politely. "So this is where the magic happens."
"Nah, the real magicians are downstairs in the studio. This is where the seeds of magic are planted. Come on, I'll show you your desk. You're gonna love the view." Mickey guided Oswald down the side wing, pointing out the music hall and two meeting rooms. "Gideon and Foulfellow," he chuckled. "Named for their size. There're schedules on the doors in case anybody really needs 'em, but otherwise you can just go in there whenever. And this-"
Mickey ushered him into a nearly empty room with a small desk and chair and white grease boards for walls. On the desk sat a stack of paper and a single black marker. It was almost like walking into a blank page. For Oswald, it was perfect.
Mickey continued. "-is your home base. In a half hour or so, Horace'll bring the idea wagon around. I told him to give you first dibs on anything that strikes your fancy."
"How do ideas get in the idea wagon in the first place?"
"The board meets at least once a week. Anything that might have potential goes in the wagon."
Oswald sat in the chair, adjusted the height, and gave it a test spin. "And how do ideas get to the board?"
"Everybody's doors are always open. Like Pete says, if ya got something," Mickey pre-emptively giggled at his own joke, "I'm all ears."
Oswald leaned back in his chair and fidgeted with his marker, debating whether or not this was the time. He decided there wasn't a time, except for the one you made. "New stories with old characters."
"Like, sequels?"
"No, like crossovers. Like House of Mouse but without the cartoons." Oswald took a beat to see how Mickey reacted. It didn't seem like the mouse was entirely sold on the idea, so Oswald pushed it a little more. "What if the queen from Snow White had to stand trial for her actions, and they held it in the court from Mr. Toad? Or how would Lambert the Sheepish Lion be treated in Zootopia? Disney has a vast landscape of characters who got one shot at the limelight. What if we dropped those boundaries and let anybody interact with anybody else?"
Mickey shifted uncomfortably. "Gosh, I don't know. Do you really want somebody like Chernabog wanderin' around Sherwood Forest?"
"Well, that's just one example that doesn't work. What about somebody like Lampwick? Didn't you feel like there was a lot more to that story? Suppose Kenai finds him. Or maybe the lost boys are able to help the rest of those donkeys. Or what about the coachman? He never gets any comeuppance. Suppose he kidnaps a child and it shows up on the radar of the Rescuers."
Mickey had to admit, the idea had potential. In fact, there were a lot of possibilities. He still didn't think the board would go for it, at least not in the way Oswald was pitching it. But the rabbit clearly believed in the idea. And that had to count for something.
"If you don't mind me asking," said Mickey, "what was it that inspired this?"
Oswald absentmindedly popped the top off his marker and replaced it. "I have a second chance. To shine. To prove that there's life in me. How many others are there who want that, and never get it?" He lay the marker back on the desk and sat up straight in his chair. "There are a lot of great personalities in the Disney family and we only got to scratch their surface. I want them to have a shot."
Mickey smiled at Oswald, not his default smile, but a deeply personal one that only a select few had ever seen. "You're right," he said. "I'll pitch it to the board this afternoon."
"I mean," said Oswald, "The worst thing that can happen is they say 'no', right?"
Continue to Chapter Nine
Return to the table of contents.
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