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[s 5] FluffyRocker's World Tour

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Punk Bunny!

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Nov 16, 1999, 3:00:00 AM11/16/99
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Cornwarren was larger than most midwestern devilbunny enclaves, large
enough to attract attention from farm rabbits eager to see the bright
tunnels of a city warren, but still a hick country town to anybun who
had lived in any of the big western warrens. PB hated hick country towns.
Rolling green fields and soft, black den loam were nice, but PunkBunny
found herself wishing for things Cornwarren didn't have, like late night
pizza deliveries and mosh pits with a leather crowd.

They didn't even have a toeball team, which meant no indoor arena
in which the band could hold their concert. But the residents were
fans of the Rocker, and the Rocker decided that Cornwarren should be a
stop on the tour. Privately PB believed that country buns did nothing but
eat, screw, and listen to rock music...so although she wasn't happy about
visiting a backwater, she knew the Rocker and the town had similar ideas
of entertainment. But organizing security for an outdoor concert was a
pain in the tail she hadn't considered.

"Billy chick a heads-up, Frankie," she whispered into her com mike,
crouched down behind a stalk of budding corn. The starry night sky and
fresh crop smells would have been passably cool if she wasn't on duty.

A few miles away at the concert, her bouncer-in-command Frankie relayed
the situation. "The Blues Bunnies are in their set, PB, and the Rocker
is warmed up. Everything's pretty smooth so far."

PB nodded, leaning around the corn stalk to peer at her main concern;
a group of humans settled around a campfire nearby. "Gotcha. Nothing
making with the monkies, over. Keep in touch, boyos, chick will do the
same."

"Gotcha, PB." The line stayed open, music dimly audible in the
background. PB laid her studded ears back and rested the com headset on
her steel-spiked collar, hoping to catch some of the concert remotely.

That the humans were fudds was undeniable; the four of them all seemed
to own fireaxes and supersoakers of various sizes, and had spent the evening
around their campfire telling outrageous tales about farm rabbits from hell.
If a runner hadn't found them the humans might have stumbled into the
Rocker's concert, the worst gatecrashers imaginable. But PB relocated the
stage to a safer location, and organized some locals to watch over the
humans in case they did become trouble. Twenty buns, good fighters all,
lay in ambush on the other side of the cornfield; close enough for PB to
run to easily, but far enough away that they wouldn't set off any of the
humans' cuteness detectors. PB herself had never set off a cuteness
detector. She wasn't really sure why.

A good half an hour passed, with the humans doing nothing more than
talking among themselves, while at the concert PB heard FluffyRocker take
the stage. After some time the female human, a pale waif in a tank top
and shorts, picked up a guitar and began to strum. Hraka, as if seeing
and smelling them wasn't enough, the fudds were going to sing.

"PB?", came Frankie's voice over the com. "Come in, chick."

"Here, natch."

"There's some kind of disturbance backstage...in the equipment tents.
I'm going over there to take a look."

"Bunnies raise your kids for you on TV," the fudd sang, "They say
you're better off spam and -- you agree..."

The doe tried to sort out the noise coming through the com unit, as
Frankie moved past crowds and equipment. "What's the word, stud?"

"It's a fight. Some big bucks in leather," the com unit crackled,
as PunkBunny felt a sinking suspicion come over her. "Holy Inle..."

"Talk to me, stud!"

"...say go buy a pet from the depths of hell and -- whatduhyaknow, you
get cuteness for free..."

"They're knocking the stagepaws around like fieldmice. Bouncers are
on it," and now the sounds were clearer, snarls and thuds of fighting
rabbits much closer to the microphone. "One of the boys is down. They --
they're tearing him apart!"

"...you cannot trust'em, can't adjust'em, gotta bust'em..."

"PB's headed your way, Frankie. Mosh guards," she called into the
com, running back through the cornfield, "half of you billy backstage
and take these thumpers down!"

"So who will saaay-a-haaave your toes?", came the fuddette's voice,
still audible behind the doe. "When the doom starts to fluff, now...ah-hah,
ah-hah, save your toh-oes..." Quickly the song faded away as PB put corn
between them.

She shifted her attention to running, listening only a little to
the jumbled shouting coming from the com. The buns at the other end of
the cornfield were listening as well, and took positions running beside her
as PunkBunny galloped past. In no time they were running past the edge
of the concert crowd, jumping over security barriers and the heads of
astonished rabbits.

"Where are you, Frankie?", PB called into the mike, spinning around
in the middle of the band tents.

A breathless voice came through her headset and beyond the equipment
tent. "We're over here, PB."

The short grass between the tent and the rear backdrop of the stage
was trampled and torn. Splatters of blood dotted everything; the soil,
the tent, and the dozen or so rabbits laying around, panting and
clawing at the dirt. A crumpled mess lay in the center, streaks of
red flaring out from it across the grass. Hardly anybun was moving,
let alone fighting.

PB hopped closer to the bloody form. It took her a second to
recognize the bouncerbun -- roadkill would have been easier to identify.

"Bad guys ran away," said Frankie horsely, wincing and pulling himself
to his haunches. "We surrounded them, started to get in some good shots.
Then everybun was just kind of...zapped, and they were running..."

"What do you mean, zapped?"

"I just felt dizzy, and sick to my stomach. Knocked me flat."

Some of the local buns in the posse were looking pretty sick themselves.
PB looked around, counting the rabbits that were wounded, worn out, or
just turning green. "Okay -- local boys, billy back and watch the fudds.
Stay safe." Hearing the alpha in her voice, the country bucks nodded
blearily, accepting the instructions.

"Someone get Teddy and his stuff, as in first aid." The haredresser
was their physician; he'd probably be bedding some groupie about now.
Too fluffin' bad. "The rest of you, as soon as you're up for it, get your
bounce on and shut this area down. Nobun but crew gets in, got it?"

Most of the bouncerbuns staggered upright and made their way around
the tents, as trembling stagepaws peeked out of hiding places to look
at the scene. On the other side of the curtain, FluffyRocker reached
the middle of his first set, the crowd in front of the stage cheering
as he ended a song. Uneasily, Frankie loped over to PB. "PunkBunny...
should we let the Rocker see this?"

The doe sighed. The boss boy wasn't squeamish, but he had a show to do,
and freaking him out during intermission would suck. "No. Help chick
clean up." The bouncer swallowed but nodded agreement. "And relay
what these thumpers looked like. PB might have seen them before."

--
PUNK Bunny!! "SPAM the world, and *Mosh On Meat*!"

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