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The Beast, The Devil, or The Hunk

Title: The Beast, The Devil, or The Hunk
Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated To: To the Taz and Tweety in our lives, who really helped us out yesterday. <3 you two!
Fandom: Looney Tunes
Character/Pairing: Taz/Tweety
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: fffc Amnesty: r11.12: Excess
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 636
Date Written: 27 August 2017
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to WB, not the author, and are used without permission.






The sun beats down hard and hot on the Devil as he spins in a ferocious whirlwind across the desert sands. Fur occasionally flies out from his whirlwind, but he keeps spinning, keeps growling, keeps going until he’s finally out of the desert into which that accursed, tricky bunny had sent him and back into a city. Still, he keeps going, heedless of his location as every other living animal rushes to get out of his way.

It isn’t until a song reaches his ears that the beast begins to calm. He stops spinning as suddenly as he had started and looks up. The pretty, peaceful melody is coming from far above his head, and for just a moment, Taz catches sight of a tiny, yellow bird. The unfamiliar creature seems as pretty and calm as his song.

Taz grunts, watching the bird who keeps singing and swinging innocently on his swing. He starts to climb after him and is reaching for his wire cage when something strikes him in the head. “Oh no, you don’t!” an old woman cries, beating him thrice more with her broom. “You may be a monster, but you’re not touching my Tweety Bird! Go away, you . . . you . . . you thing!”

Granny keeps hitting Taz until he falls, then grabs Tweety’s cage and rushes back into their home. She slams the door shut behind them.

Tweety whistles. His song is over, and far below them, unable to hear any further notes of lyrical calmness, Taz begins to again growl and swear excessively. Saliva spits from his fang-filled mouth, but Tweety, safe in his abode, doesn’t see this as he looks up through his bars at Granny. “I tawt I saw a ‘unk,” he chirps.

“No. No, you most certainly did not,” Granny tells him firmly, not in the least bothered by her bird’s appreciation of his own gender. “That was no hunk, Tweety Bird! That was a beast!”

“Beast?”

“Yes,” Granny insists, “worse than Sylvester on his hungriest days.” She slides Tweety’s cage onto a hook overlooking the street. Tweety hops back onto his swing, which is now in a pool of sunlight. He sees something spin by outside as he begins to sing, then stops singing once more when the whirlwind pauses and he again sees that strange animal who had been following his song before.

He stares at the beast through his bars and the glass of the window for a long moment before asking, “Are you a beast?” The reply he’s given makes no sense to the bird. It’s all guttural, spits, snorts, and growls. He shrugs. “Granny’s always right,” he reminds himself and as he keeps watching the Tazmanian Devil, no longer singing, the beast begins to jump up and down again.

“You can’t stay in one spot, can you?” Tweety asks though he knows the other animal can not hear him. He watches as the Devil bounces up and down on his large, furry feet and waves his fists in the air. Then he turns, looks at something in the path ahead of him where the bird can not see, and shakes his fists even more. Between to growl now, and still spitting after every third growl, the Tazmanian Devil takes off again, spinning in a dangerous whirlwind and still cursing and growling in excess.

Tweety shakes his head. “Maybe you are,” he comments and goes back to the safety of his song. The Devil’s spun too far now to be able to hear him, but one day, he’ll come back. One day, they may be rewarded another chance, and Tweety may finally learn then if the strange, angry “monster” is truly that or perhaps really a Prince in disguise at which time he’ll exclaim, “I did. I did see a ‘unk!”, and their happiness can begin.


The End

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