Your Favorite Duck

Daffy Duck brushed his feathered fingers atop Bugs Bunny's vanity in boredom, waiting on his co-star to get dressed so they could wait for another hour before their premiere. Daffy had given up yelling at Bugs to hurry up. The hare promised the more he called, the longer he'd stay locked in his private bathroom.

Daffy was more than familiar with the rabbit's "dressing room", that looked more like a vintage condo and less like a space to rest between performances. Bugs' lavish vanity grounded the room as such, and was decorated with expensive perfumes, the mirror overtaken by the signatures of famous actors and musicians, wishing Bugs their love. He was more than familiar with their shallow messages and send offs, too. After being around celebrities for almost a century, they all start to read the same. One personality will remind you of another you've met fifty years before. Daffy figured toons had a unique perspective, getting to experience the redundancy of humanity from such a distance. The way Bugs crowded their photographs around the edges, perhaps their repetitious adulation was a comfort to him. Or something. He wasn't gonna waste time waxing poetic on stupid pictures.

At least, that's what he tried to tell himself. Daffy's idle mind wandered. Wincing, he remembered he was once no better.

Secretly, briefly, he was chief among Bugs' adorers. Before the hare made himself known, Daffy was attentive to Bugs' career, observing him with curiosity and awe.

Once, he offered his autograph, too.

It was the perfect opportunity to give him one, since Bugs couldn't help but capture his attention after Bugs incited mayhem during his and Porky's soundstage rehearsal on an otherwise uneventful day. He had whooped and hollered and bounced around exactly the same Daffy, mimicking one of his stairway laughs. The soundstage filled with shrieks and frustrated groans as the crew attempted to capture Bugs. Porky hardly paid any mind to the madness and resumed studying his script; he was more than accustomed to the mishaps of a loose toon. Between the both of them, Daffy was the first to jump at the opportunity of facing a rebel, ironically.

Daffy positioned himself at the very center of the stage. Then checked the breeze by popping his finger in and out of his mouth, repositioning himself slightly to the right. Without moving the rest of his body, he laid out his right flipper and tripped the rabbit mid bounce. Despite the embarrassment, the hare jumped back on his feet and shouted at Daffy to watch where he was going.

The set fell silent.

Porky looked up from his script and watched the two intently at the ready to intervene. Few people knew Daffy had an overwhelming temperament lying dormant under his deceptively carefree disposition. Porky had the ability to sense when it was provoked, and he worried this would be one of those moments. The crew members who weren't attempting to gather their bearings began whispering among themselves. Daffy couldn't hear, but it seemed their words prompted the producer to run out the stage doors.

Everyone watched the two in anticipation. Daffy had blinked. Once, twice, then grinned madly. He nudged the rabbit's shoulder, commenting that his form wasn't half bad, but not without giving some critique.

Any other toon in the rabbit's place would release a sigh of relief, perhaps apologize and part ways.
But the Rabbit impishly smiled back, chuckling a 'thanks' at the mallard star.
Daffy was impressed. The extra had guts, he didn't seem to care for Daffy's superior status as a lead actor.

Daffy had asked for his name, his curiosity fully piqued, and was shocked when the rabbit stated he had none. He was nonchalant about it too, pulling out a carrot from nowhere and munched mindlessly.
Daffy shook his head and asked his name again, insisting he had to be called something, a nickname, an insult, anything.