[s 8] FluffyRocker's World Tour
Punk Bunny!
of the coming concert. Buns trickled in and out, but a small core group
stayed, laughing and drinking and singing along with his better known
hits. The dun stayed, too, he noticed, though he was trying to avoid
noticing her; never stirring except to refresh her tea. Her movements,
like her lines, were clean and graceful, with a self-assurance that was
oddly out of place in a regbun. In spite of himself he found himself
puzzling over her. And when he stopped at last, pleading a tired voice,
and the white was wiggling at him seductively, much to the discomfiture of
her companion, instead of enjoying the view he also found himself looking
over to the dun. She was looking back this time; looking at him with a
strange, questioning gaze. Her eyes were very blue, out of place with her
dull hue. He could write songs to those eyes, he thought, startled. He
felt the familiar tug of chords wanting to be explored. He didn't believe
this. He never in a million years would have thought he'd bother trying
again with a doe who had so emphatically snubbed him. There were plenty of
does out there, after all. Cute, willing does, one of whom was right in
front of him. But almost without thinking he made his excuses to the
white, and slowly approached the dun. He wasn't even sure what he was
going to say.
She saved him the trouble.
"Do you like that?" she asked slowly, her eyes never leaving him. He
blinked. Whatever he had expected, this wasn't it.
"Like what?" he asked.
"That." She waved a brown-tipped paw. "The buns. All over you. Never
leaving you alone." She spoke slowly, with pauses, choosing her words with
care.
"Like it?" he boggled. "Babe, it's my lifeblood! It's part of who I am!
How could I write and sing and touch any chords in anyone if I'm not in
touch with my fans?"
"Isn't it ever... too much?"
He chuckled, although he didn't really understand her line of thought.
"Honey, I have one bear of a Security Manager. Most of the time it isn't
enough. Not nearly enough."
She looked at him thoughtfully. "You should have gone with the white," she
said at last. Rocker gave a snort of laughter.
"Yeah, I should have," he agreed, hunkering down amiably. "I should have
at that. But nobunny's ever accused me of being sensible. Bull-headed,
idiotic, exasperating; maybe. But sensible? Frith forbid."
For a moment her eyes were still wary, but then she relaxed, almost
smiled. "Hang on," she said, and hopped off, returning with a steaming
cup. "Here. Chamomile." She added a dollop of honey. "It'll... soothe your
throat. Maybe you'll even have a voice tonight." Rocker laughed again.
"Is there any logic to the way your mind works?" he chuckled. "Thanks, by
the way. It does smell good. What are you doing up this time of night,
anyway? You don't look like a techbun." Or a regbun, he added to himself,
or, really any pat little category. For an instant an image of PunkBunny
flitted across his mind, but the leggy doe and this little dun were worlds
apart. He couldn't figure what could be the connection.
"Couldn't sleep," she shrugged. "I'm not... local, anyway. Just got here."
"And thought you'd stay for the concert?" he prompted exaggeratedly. She
actually giggled.
"Something like that," she grinned.
They sat in silence for awhile. Strange, he thought, that he would pass up
a boink for this. And not regret it particularly.
"So where are you from?" he asked eventually.
"Back East." She waved a paw. "But I've traveled around a lot. Haven't
been..." She paused, "...home... in awhile. Don't want to, really. There's
so much to see," she added, almost as an afterthought. Rocker was fascinated.
"I'd like to do that. Just travel around, seeing what there is to see,
meeting all different buns. Believe it or not, this is the first time I've
been away from Denverwarren in a long time. And thanks to PunkBunny, I'm
missing all of the trip. I know my Bunnymover compartment backwards and
forwards, but that's hardly something to tell the grandkits about."
"So... why don't you?"
Rocker blinked. "I was just telling you. PB..."
No, like..." She stopped dead, and blushed. "Nothing," she said slowly.
"Never mind."
"No, tell me. What?"
"Well, I just was thinking. You want to get out. I want to get out. Maybe
we should, you know, get out together for awhile. I mean Out out."
Rocker stared at her. He had the feeling they were having two different
conversations. "'Out out'? You mean out of the warren? At this time of the
night? Why? What would be out there?"
"Oh, I don't know. Stuff. Something. Anything. Isn't that the point of
going and seeing what you see? Let's see. This is all farm country, right?
Hmmm. I know!" Her eyes took on an unholy gleam, which Rocker found very
disquieting.
"Let's go cow tipping!" she said brightly.
"What?!"
"Cow tipping. You know." She suddenly bolted towards the far wall, took a
flying leap, and thudded hard against it with her hind feet. "It's a
balance thing," she explained as she hopped back to him. "You have to get
them just right. Slashing the legs out from under them is cheating. I'm
wa.. um, I'm pretty small, but you're big enough that it'd be easy for
you!"
"And you've actually done this?"
"Well, no, not exactly. <squirm> But I used to sneak out at night and
watch the big kits do it all the time. It'll be easy."
"But what's the point?"
"Well... the fun. The challenge. The look on their big stupid faces when
they find themselves awake on the ground. Something to tell the grandkits
about."
Rocker grinned in spite of himself. The look of mischief on her face was
unmistakable. He could hardly believe this was the same doe who had looked
at him so coldly, had so deliberately snubbed him...
"What about your 'quiet evening'? he asked a bit sharply, his eyes
challenging her to explain.
She looked away for a moment, considering. Then she turned to him soberly.
"I can tip cows quietly," she said in a very solemn voice.
He boggled, then erupted into laughter. "OK, you win," he gasped. You're
crazy. Completely crazy. And I love it. Lead on... Hey, what is your name,
anyway?"
She hesitated, and he was puzzled all over again. Did she not trust him
even now?
"WindDancer," she said finally.
"WindDancer," he mused. "What a beautiful name. It suits you, somehow."
"My friends call me Windy," she offered hesitantly.
"Ah, but that's not right for you. Thank Frith I'm not your friend but
just some buck who ruined your evening," he grinned broadly. "You're
definitely a 'Dancer'. Couldn't be anything else. I'm FluffyRocker, of
course, at your service. Lead on, fair Dancer. If you can actually get me
out of this place without being seen, I really will be at your service."
Her smile was all sweet innocence. "I... well, I think something can be
arranged. <innocentfluff>"
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Punk Bunny...and a secret Guest...