Of Leopards and Wolves
@weaselnerd, @lastofautumn, @spookiifi, @heartsissopure, @trashogram A.K.A. @mantisandthemoondragon, @alexissoosigma52288, I have completed another gift drawing 🎁 And I have done several. I created one for Weaselnerd, @mosaic-marshlands, @just-kit-ink, Autumn, I even created one for @slashingdisneypasta A.K.A. @wicked1will0sparkles. And now, this one is for @amberfox232 🦊! AMBER, THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME DRAW YOUR OCs THE LEOPARD TWINS 🐆🐆 ❤💚💕💛🧡💓💙💗💜💖💟💘💌!!!!!!!!! I know this took forever to complete, I’m so sorry 😭
Still, thank you so much for your patience. And thank you again for all those wonderful references 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩! For real, they’re super helpful and I hope you enjoy your gift drawing 🎁😊!
The Leopard Twins Angel and Precious belong to @amberfox232
The Twisted Toonz Twins belong to me
~
Clank!
The doorknob to Eddie’s office fell to the ground and it creaked open, almost ominously. The twins started to do their part of their boss’s plan; they are officially Eddie Valiant’s assistants who are also looking for Roger Rabbit, the accused murderer of Marvin Acme. For now, they just sat at the card-playing table playing Uno.
Tom kept his eyes on the door and watched a gang of five Toon weasels poking their heads in. The first weasel he saw was a tall weasel as thin as a toothpick and reeked of cigarette smoke and roadkill decay. Despite his scrawny figure, his arms were packed with steely muscle proven by holding his Tommy gun with no problem. His fur was an ashy blue with a powder-blue muzzle, ears, and underbelly and clad in a stained dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, an open black vest along with a matching undone tie and wore a bowler hat stashed with cigarettes poking from the black band. Four cigarettes poked out from his pursed lips and yellowed fangs, and his pockets held lit cigarettes dangerously close to setting his clothes on fire. A massive cloud of toxic plumes followed him, nearly veiling his bloodshot icy cobalt eyes. Unsurprisingly, he blinked just fine.
The next two weasels were the ones Tom paid most attention to. The first weasel leading the charge had to be the boss, and Tom already knew he was going to be a pain in the ass. Judging by his “Don’t fuck with me” glower, taste for fine things in life and “I’m walkin’ here” stroll, he had to have been referencing someone famous. Joe Pesci? Nah, he was born in ‘43. Capone? No, he died in January this year. Cagney? Yep, definitely Cagney.
His fur was tawny brown with tangerine coloring half his snout, underbelly, and pawpads, and his long, black-streaked tail lashed aggressively. The guy was small, but there’s no doubt he could take on wiseguys much bigger than him; his lean arms were heavy with firm, solid muscle and his chest puffed out, displaying his strength like a prideful pink peacock. He wore a light pink double-breasted Cagney zoot suit adorned with four bronze buttons fitting his lean, sinewy form over a crisp white dress shirt holding a hot pink bejeweled tie, white spats warming his clawed feet, and a light pink fedora fit snugly on his head. Like any other gangster, he seemed to take pride in his style with the way his jewel glittered in the light, and the polished gold chain of a pocket watch hanging from his left pocket. His eyes were cold like ice and sharp like golden switchblades, which complimented his mean-looking mug.
Tom’s eyes moved to the other weasel, who was most likely the right-hand of the gang. His fur was dark chocolate with light mocha warming his snout and ears. Although he too was slender, he had a bit of a pot belly that looked well in proportion to his size and height. He stood a head taller than the other four and wore a zoot suit similar to Cagney Weasel’s, but unlike him whose style fit in with the classic gangster types, his Pachuco suit emblemed the Zoot Riots. He wore a jade-colored trench coat trimmed with a black collar and baggy sleeve-cuffs over matching high-waisted trousers and spectator shoes, but his main colors were contrasted by a white dress shirt and a hot pink tie. His oiled black hair was topped by a wide-brimmed jade fedora casting a shadow over his dark eyes, accenting his outfit of choice. He strolled in with a slink of his movements, as if he were trying to look suave in his saunter but all Tom had to do was take one whiff on him and smell the heavy cologne laced with sleaziness.
You call him Casanova? Tom arched a brow, Brother, tone down the Creep Chanel No. 1, will ya?
The fourth weasel had to be a secret love child of Ripper Roo and Wind in the Willows. He was small and thin, coated in caramel fur that he probably skinned off from the body of a poor unfortunate Toon. His blue eyes were wide and unhinged and yellow swirls danced around his orbs with deranged delight, and sprouting from smiling lips were dozens of small yellow fangs perfect for tearing off flesh from your fucking face and chewing human meat. On top of his head was a wild mass of spiky gingerbread hair probably used as porcupine quills, and he only wore a straitjacket with unlocked restraints and large baggy sleeves covering his paws while he was holding a barber’s razor.
And finally, there was the fifth weasel, who nearly tumbled on his way in while holding a nail-implanted baseball bat. He appeared to be the muscle of the gang, but he was a little bigger with the meat than the muscles. Honestly, he looked more like a potato made out of pillows and fluff rather than muscle and bone. His fur was coated in gingerbread and apricot fur warming his bucktoothed snout, and his bagel belly was stockier than the right-hand’s. He only wore a blue-and-white striped T-shirt barely covering his gut, untied blue tennis shoes, and a red beanie holding a yellow propeller. His wide hazel eyes looked around the room, oblivious of the twins nearby.
“Looks like they gave us the slip, huh, Boss?” Casanova asked in a low husky voiced laced with Puerto Rican descent, pulling out a pistol.
“Nah. Valiant’s got him stashed somewhere,” Cagney replied and pulled out a loaded Colt Trooper Mk II. Tom took a wild guess that the gun was loaded with Dip-filled bullets.
“That him?” Tom mouthed at his twin.
She silently sighed, then nodded. Her eyes glared at him sharply and pointed a clawed finger at him, mouthing “But don’t kill him yet.”
“Can’t make no promises.” Twyla shook her head at Tom, but a small smile cracked her lips.
“Hey, you!” the leader exclaimed. “At the ‘cable’! Show ‘your-shelves’!”
Twyla rolled her amethyst orbs, then let out a soft growl and looked over her shoulder to greet him with an icy glare. The pink bastard’s eyes widened at the sight of her, then returned the glare while lowering his gun.
“Ugh, you again?!” he barked. His right-hand peeked over his left shoulder and his lips curled in a prurient smile seeing the noirette. A low growl rumbled from Tom’s throat. “What are you doin’ here?!” The Brooklyn weasel snarled at Twyla.
“Now, now, Smartass,” a soft, purring voice lightly chastised him. The atmosphere around the walls of Valiant’s disorganized, unkempt office had alarmingly dropped from a humid summer heat down to a frigid, ice-cold shiver as unforgiving as the winter itself. For a moment there, Tom could have sworn they saw something in the eyes of the pink-clad gangster called Smartass. Something like…fear?
All fourteen pairs of eyes, including Eddie’s and the twins’, whirled to see not one, but two presences standing by the door. A pair of female Toon leopards. They stood at a high six feet, just slightly taller than the Twisted Toonz Twins, and made their appearances known quite well.
On the right, the first leopardess that spoke had vivid fur as bright as gold but up her middle and saturating her face was a light, pale creamy yellow. Accenting her ears ringed with darker fur and forehead down to her tail were embellishments of floral-like rosettes decorating her form proudly symbolizing her status like any other leopard’s. Her face had mature, feline-like features including a heart-shaped catlike nose and fangs sharp as scissors shearing through meat. Patches of light cream accented her eyes like eyeshadow, a gentle contrast to her piercing pale blue eyes. The summer heat didn’t seem to bother her much as her fashion choice consisted of a long-sleeved black jumpsuit shrouded by a light purple chiffon coat and a pair of black kitten heels. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled up in a stylish ponytail with a rubber band bejeweled in rhinestones matching her diamond earrings, leaving her bangs swiftly veiling the left side of her face.
The other leopardess was also warmed in bright, golden fur leaving her face and throat coated in pale cream. Dark rosettes of leopard spots graced her visage and slim, toned arms like rosy beauty marks all the way down to her left leg and long, catlike tail leaving no trace of fur unmarked. Her hair was blonde too, but caramelized in layers of wavy, sleek ginger and her forehead was veiled in a curtain of soft, buttery bangs. She carried herself highly with pride and grace as her fellow feline, clad in a scarlet floor-length evening gown with halter straps holding a sweetheart neckline, and a slit at the left side of her skirt, along with matching heels. She had her own jewelry of choice; two gold dangle earrings and a bangle bracelet decorating her left wrist.
As Tom inspected the second wildcat, he noticed a few similarities between the two. They both had patches circling their eyes, the same number of spots in identical size and shape, and they had the same eye color. Those eyes….Tom felt an unsettling chill run down his spine growing more bitter the longer he stared at their eyes. They were pale, cold, and bone-chilling. Realization finally dawned upon him. They are sisters. Twin sisters.
“That’s no way to talk to a lady, is it?” the lighter blonde asked, her purr fading into a light, yet harsh hiss as sharp as her teeth.
The other leopardess shook her head, “So unmannerly.” She then turned to Twyla, her smile feigning sincerity. “Sorry about him, sweetheart. He was sure as hell asking for a sock to the face back at the factory.” Her voice was soft like silk but laced with painful poison that made the Toonz twins’ nerves sting. And Smartass’s too, with the way his ears flattened and the slight wince in his composure.
From behind him, the Twisted Twins saw the way the chain-smoker’s eyes warily glanced at them but more so at the leopards before slowly removing himself from the group with a sense of caution. Soon enough, the wild-haired weasel and teddy bear followed his stance, the swirls in the smallest weasel’s eyes moving slower as he nudged the latter closer – and away from the felines. Like a sheepdog protecting the herd from the wolves. Or, in this case, leopards. Tom’s gaze moved back to them and something in his gut told him to move his seat closer to his sister’s, ready to protect her should this little “visit” become more…unwelcoming.
The “muscleman” then noticed the twins. “Duh, there’s two of them?” he tilted his head like an innocent puppy, which nearly made Tom’s heart melt with sympathy. Poor guy has no idea of the potential – no, actual danger he and his teammates were in.
“Shaddup!” the leader snapped, then whipped his head back to the duo while raising his revolver. “Show us where Valiant is!”
Tom frowned before he lightly jerked his head towards the kitchen. The pink-clad gangster heard a faint humming and caught a flash of movement, then followed the trail to the kitchen.
“Hold it right there!” he aimed his gun at Eddie who was at the sink doing his…laundry.
He barely spared them a glance. “Hello, boys. I didn’t hear you come in.”
Completely ignoring the detective’s “assistants”, Smartass grabbed a chair and slammed the back of it against the counter, nearly knocking Tom off his. He glared metaphorical daggers at his back, then suddenly whiplashed and bared his teeth seeing the so-called Casanova sneak his way towards Twyla’s personal space. He rested his chin on his left palm, giving her the goo-goo eyes.
“I didn’t know that I was going to see you again~” he purred, his voice dripping with lust. "Se sintió como…una eternidad."
Twyla raised a polite albeit confused brow, but Tom saw right through that sleazy creep. “Oye. Guárdalo en tus pantalones, repelente.” He growled at him.
The gangster flinched like he literally just noticed Tom was there too and nonchalantly held his hands up. But Tom noted the smug amusement in his eyes.
He was faking it. This motherfu—!
“What’s in there?”
“My lingerie.” Eddie responded, pulling up a wet sock from the sink. The leader’s nose scrunched his disgust and turned away while holding his nose. Suddenly, as soon as his back was turned, Roger popped out of the sink, spitting out the water. Abruptly, the zoot gangsters turned their heads in Eddie’s direction just as Roger was successfully shoved back in the sink. To distract them, Twyla started coughing.
“You all right?” Tom asked.
Twyla nodded, then mischievously tossed him a 2+. Her brother glowered but swallowed his pride and took two additional cards. She coughed again to keep them distracted as she took a sip of water from her glass. Tom laid his cards down, keeping an eye out on the jungle cats who remained where they stood. They watched Eddie as he kept their client hidden in the sink, feeling his fur rubbed the wrong the way. And Eddie probably felt like he was being watched as he briefly glanced up and practically froze the moment his eyes met theirs. If Eddie was a Toon, he could’ve turned to stone as those orbs of petrifying pale ice nearly pierced through his gruff shield, as if he were a meek wanderer trapped in a cave with two frightening, catlike gorgons. They were completely still, like statues.
Jesus, they’re not even blinking, Tom shivered.
A sound of footsteps snapped the gunslinger back, seeing Smartass shove his subordinate out of the way before interrogating the twins, as well. “While we’re here, mind if I ask for yer names?” he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Only if you give yours, bub.” Tom raised a brow but complied, pointing a red Uno reverse.
“Fine. I’ll give ya tha’ coitesy,” the Brooklyn weasel replied harshly, then suddenly took Tom’s hand in a brief but firm handshake. “The name’s Smartass. Sergeant Smartass.” He emphasized on “Sergeant” with a touch of pride, his lips curled in a cocky, smug grin. “I run dis outfit.”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, introducing his men.
“That’s Wheezy, my left-hand.” He pointed his thumb at the smoker weasel, who blew a cloud of smoke as a means of saying “What’s up?”.
“Psycho. Dat’s all you need `ta know about him.”
“Hiiiiii!!! Heh-heh-hehe!” The straitjacketed weasel giggled manically.
The boss weasel, Smartass, then motioned towards the tubby weasel…who was staring at nothing. Tom had to guess that they were some sort of Doc and Dopey rip-offs. “Stupid, our muscle.” At the mention of his name, the potato turned around and childishly waved, “Hello!”
Smartass finally addressed the creepy elephant in the room with an exasperated, annoyed sigh. “And the mug oglin’ tha’ dame is my right-hand Greasy.”
The tallest weasel made a clicking noise and flirtatiously winked at Twyla, who only gave him a brief glance and flicked two reverses at Tom. He ignored his sister’s audacity for now.
Smartass turned back at them, “And…” he gave them the once-over. “Who tha’ hell are you?”
“Name’s Tom. Gunslinger Tom.” Tom introduced himself, returning the once-over. “I’m also a bad bastard. And the dame you’ve recently harassed and your ‘right-hand’ flirted with is my sister, Twisted Twyla.” He jerked his thumb over to Twyla, who curtly tilted her chin up.
“Sister?” the weasels exclaimed in unison, minus Greasy who silently whispered, “Twyla”.
Before any comment could be made, the leopards rejoined the group and the weasels, except the Spaniard, instantly cleared the path. They towered over everyone in the apartment, casting two dark shadows that nearly eliminated any source of light shining through the half-covered windows. Their attention was now solely fixed on the twins, and Tom felt his blood run cold and fur bristle. He could practically see the calculating gaze in their eyes as they gave them the once-over, as if they were sizing up another powerful animal that can definitely fight back.
Finally, the scarlet-clad leopardess spoke. “Gunslinger Tom and Twisted Twyla, huh?” she repeated, her lips curled in a sinister smile that revealed too much of her fangs.
“Hmm, catchy,” her sister commented before turning to Smartass and her harsh glare returned, “Don’t just stand there. Do your job.”
Smartass lightly glowered but complied. “Search the place, boys! And leave no stone unturned.”
The rest of the boogle followed the command and began their trail. Greasy frowned, rolling his eyes for some unsurprising reason but did what Smartass ordered him to do. Papers were tossed in the air, filing drawers and cabinets were becoming a mess, and other debris scattered everywhere. Smartass then returned to the kitchen, intending on interrogating Eddie and leaving the Twisted Twins alone once again.
However, as soon as he left, the sisters took over his spot. “You two must be new in town,” the blonde stated. Then, she introduced herself, “I’m Angel.”
“I’m Precious,” her sister gave her name.
…Angel and Precious? The vigilantes exchanged another wary glance before Tom gave them a polite, albeit perturbed nod. With the introductions out of the way, they cautiously watched the leopard twins, Angel and Precious, aid their colleagues in the search. Precious’s eyes analyzed the door with acute precision while Angel lightly caressed her hand across the desk while her other hand grabbed onto the other chair Roger just so happened to have sat at for a very brief moment, much to the halfies’ dread. Then, she turned to the picture that remained untouched throughout the weasels’ thorough investigation before slowly grabbing it.
Twyla whipped her head around back to the kitchen so fast she could’ve gotten whiplash. Eddie’s back was turned while dealing with the Sergeant’s inquiry, but there was no doubt he would have seen red if he caught the blonde leopardess holding a portrait of his brother. But fortunately, Angel placed the frame down exactly where it was before turning her attention to the window. A growing wave of unease flooded the sleuths’ hearts as they continued to study the wildcats’ movements. Their methods were subtle, careful and meticulous to an alarming degree as they each took a turn searching every corner, nook and cranny of the office. And to make it even more unsettling, the four weasels would either flinch or just straight up bolt in their presences.
They’re afraid of them, Twyla confirmed as she glanced at her brother who nodded, agreeing. Suddenly, out of the blue, Angel popped up and stood a little too close to Tom’s liking.
“So,” she asked, “word on the street is that you two are working with Mr. Valiant on the case. Is that true?”
Precious added before the Rubberhose wolf could answer, “It’s quite surprising, to be honest.” She pulled out a cigarette and snatched Wheezy’s lighter from his pocket, ignoring his indignant glare. The ginger-haired jungle cat lit up the tip, then roughly shoved the lighter back in the chain-smoker’s pocket with enough force to have him wobbling. “Rumor has it he doesn’t solve Toon cases anymore. It’s a damn shame, though. He used to be one of the best, and everyone in Toontown loved working with him.”
The twins glanced at the detective, whose shoulders went tense hearing that. But to their surprise, he didn’t reply. Tom planned his response, yet he found the words trapped in his throat. He then faced Angel and answered, “We were called here as private investigators, so we are working with him. At least, for this case.”
As he said that, Precious circled around the table, smoking her cigarette. Like a shark circling around a boat, or its prey. Her icy eyes met Twyla’s, and she took a slow drag before letting out a puff of smoke…shaped like a skull.
Exactly like the one Twyla blew at the weasels.
The furs on her body rose up in hair-raising fright from the tips of her ears to her tail, and she felt a freezing chill run down her spine. She grabbed her brother’s hand, which he lightly squeezed as a means of giving comfort. He even moved his chair slightly closer, feeling the same trepidation plaguing in his chest. Still, that didn’t seem to deter the leopards from continuing their inquiry.
“Since we’re all pretty much on the same level here, maybe you could help us out.” Angel stated. Her eyes stared right into his, as if they were two icicles piercing through steel armor. Like he was no larger than a mouse staring in the eye of a cat.
“Do you know where the rabbit is hiding?”