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There's a flash and a bang and suddenly there is a well-muscled man in a rather ridiculous looking costume standing in the woods. But that might go overlooked since he's also wearing a frilly white apron (someone took his more manly one) and holding a skillet in which a pair of eggs still sizzle half-fried.

"Huh," he says casually as his head swivels around searching for threats. Definitely not Kansas.

Not that he was in Kansas before...

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There is a rabbit, muttering to himself as he trudges through the woods, dragging a rather large sack behind him. The sack clinks repeatedly as it bumps into rocks and things, and from inside a sloshing sound can be heard.

"Fiskin' factory, so fiskin' far away from the fiskin' farmhouse. Fiskin' cars runn' out of fiskin' ga-"

He stops, staring at the men in front of him, like a deer caught in the headlights. He twitches his nose once or twice, then looks up at them, with an innocent expression on his face. "Ah... mew?"

Oh look, a talking rabbit.

Floyd looks at it, then stops caring. Blake can talk to it if he wants.

Blake looks over at his companion and twitches an eyebrow. "You were the one complaining about the food situation," he points out with a vague gesture toward the rabbit.

Lawton eyes Blake.

"You're the big white hunter guy."

The Rabbit bares his teeth in what might be a grin. "Oh, just try it."

"I'm not really all that hungry, and the thing's kinda small." He's not precisely ignoring the rabbit out of rudeness. It's just that the Six have a tendency to get wrapped up in annoying each other and forget the world around them merits attention.

"You were hungry enough to want to cook eggs in the middle of the night."

And Floyd was hungry enough to eat them. Because that's why they were alone together in the middle of the night anyway; hunger.

The bunny tsks his head. "God, you bicker like a couple of old queens." He shrugs, his bag clinking and sloshing again. "Then again, tights."

That finally draws Thomas' notice. "It's tradition."

"Bickering like queers is tradition?" The Bunny shrugs. "Far be it from me to break with tradition."

Lawton doesn't look at the bunny until he's grinned, shrugged, and given a pointed look at Blake's tights, and apron.

"Who's bickering? This ain't even a tiff."

You can tell when they have a tiff. Someone ends up hurt.

Blood's a good indicator of such things, yeah.

"And at least we're wandering through the forest talking to each other rather than to ourselves." Not that they don't talk to themselves on occasion...

The Bunny arches an eyebrow. "You fellas must be new. Either that, or retarded. And fer yer information, I was recording the epic log of my journeys to procure lifes most sacred beverage."

"Never said we weren't retarded," Lawton reflects. They are, after all, having a conversation with a rabbit.

"We could be functional retards, after all," Blake agrees.

The Rabbit twitches slightly. "Riiight." He shakes his head at the duo, then turns his back on them. "Fiskin' humans."

Lawton glances at Blake, questioningly. Worth trying to get some eats?

Thomas considers for a second before shaking his head. "Never know who might have friends in high places," he points out, going back to his 'ignore the bunny' plan.

The Rabbit hops a couple more steps, then pauses to rummage in his sack. He pulls forth a bottle of rum, takes a sip, then stashes it again.

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