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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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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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