Speaking of stuff that I write for games that I'm playing in, here's something I wrote for Hix's game that I sent to him, and he suggested I post. To give a bit of background to the character, Danny is meant to be a small-timer, modelled in part on the boy who works for Gutman in the Maltese Falcon - he wants respect, and doesn't realise how expendible he is to those he trusts. He's been given a chance by a Toon underworld figure to get what he thinks he wants: he's got a job as the masked main character of a movie serial. (I'm thinking of the five-minute shorts that used to play before movies, full of action and very little else.) He's the fourth guy to play the part, bonded to the toon gun that's the icon (and in many ways, the real star) of the series. So, he's got what he wants... kind of. And in return, he acts as deniable muscle in the main part of LA.
I'm kinda aware of the flaws of the vignette, so... uh, yeah.
***
The single light-bulb in the lamp-stand just makes the deserted sound-stage seem bigger. Someone has left a radio on in the background; a ragtime tune tinkles into the darkness. Everyone's gone home for the day, except the four figures around the rickety card table - three hulking silhouettes and Danny, frowning at his cards and chewing nervously on his cigar. The hyena on his left, looking like he's been stuffed into his pinstripe suit, blows a smoke ring and gestures with his stogie's glowing tip.
"Ya see, ya gots to unnerstand, ain't none o'those bozos wanna piss off da boss, but dey don' get paid ta likes it, so they's gonna take it out on someone; it ain't nuttin' personal, like."
"You yappin' or playin', Hutz?" rumbles the shark. Even the creases in his pocket handkerchief are as crisp as they were at the beginning of the day. The smoke curls up from his cigar like fronds of seaweed, and his stillness is like a giant steel trap.
"I'm playin', I'm playin'. Sheez, Turk, why da big hurry? Da pot ain't goin' nowhere. Okay... I seez Danny's buck, an' raise a buck."
"See." A couple of crisp notes are placed in the pot with a banker's precision.
The baboon absentmindedly replaces the cigarette on the end of his ebony holder, and tucks the silver cigarette case back into his white dinner jacket. "As usual, Hutz, you can't see past your own damn nose. They ain't pissed - they're scared. Scared of us, scared of what we can do; and they don't like Danny-boy, 'cos he ain't scared. Are ya, boy?"
"Huh? Uh, nuh-uh - I guess I ain't scared o'nuttin much, Mr Daley."
"Heh, 'Mr Daley'; why can't you punks gimme respect like that?"
"We know you. Play."
"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on. See the two, raise you five."
"Five?" Danny swallows.
"What, Danny-boy? The game too rich for your blood?" Daley's scarlet lips draw back in a caricature of a grin, his huge fangs gleaming yellow in the lamp-light.
"Uh... no, no, I'm in. See your five."
"He-he-he, it's six, man, six - don' forget my buck, Danny."
"Yeah, six, I meant six."
"See, you gotta know when ya outta y'league, Danny. Me, I knows better than bettin' agains' Sid when he's grinnin' like that - I'm foldin'. If I wanna throw money away, it won' be ta anyone wit a mug like yours, Sid. Oh, man, dere's dis sweet kid up at the Purple Orchid..."
"See the five. Raise one."
"Hmm. So... Danny, I guess the question is - how far are you willing to go? I see the buck, and raise ten."
"Hoo hoo hoo, Danny, ya goin' down now! You be goin' home wearin' one o'dose barrels, like in da funny papers!"
"I... I guess I'll... just a second." Danny fumbles in his pockets, and pulls out a fiver that has seen better days. "There - eleven. I see."
"See." Two crisp fives are placed precisely on the pile.
"Right, Danny boy - the moment of truth. There we are, boys - three kings. How'd you make out, Danny?"
Danny slowly grins, and spreads his cards on the table. "Well, I got a full house - sorry to disappoint you, Mr Hutz. I guess you just gotta stick it out sometimes." He makes a move to collect the pot, when Turk sets down his hand with a crisp click. The tinkling piano of the radio is replaced with quiet static.
"Straight flush. You lose. Hutz, deal."
Hutz gathers the cards, and starts to shuffle, sniggering, while Turk gathers the notes and casually flattens them before adding them to his tidy pile. Daley taps ash from his cigarette on the floor, and nods to Danny, who is slowly colouring. "Important lesson, Danny. Sometimes you lose on something that looks like a sure thing. But that's why they call it a risk. You know that, right, Danny?"
Danny glowers, but reluctantly nods, and the static on the radio fades; the programme has moved on, and the melody has a more plaintive note.
"Sorry guys, but I'm cleaned out, and, uh, I don't know where they keep those barrels." Danny smiles - it's sour, but it's a smile. "Besides, I gotta get home."
"Want a loan?" For the first time, Turk grins, showing row upon row of sharp, serrated teeth.
"Uh, nah, don't think I want to go down that road, sir, thanks all the same."
"Good. Smart move." Turk nods once, and then turns his attention back to the card game. Danny walks across to the stage door, lets himself into the clear, cold air and starts the long walk home - but he's grinning. Those actor bums may think that he's some no-account toon-caddy, but Turk said he's smart, and he's been in the business forever... what do those jerks know, huh? Yeah.
***
Since toons can't leave Toon Town without being bonded to a human, I figured that there would be a term to mock people who were seen as just tools for their toon - hence, "toon-caddy".
Posted by svend at October 29, 2004 11:08 AM