Fluff Pit (open to multiple)

[bluesuit_handy]

It's been a long day of scanning the bunnies that appeared in the flat he shares with James for signs of dimensional instability and/or sinister intent. Or, alright, that part only took about half an hour, and since then they've been keeping the bunnies corralled in the living room and supplying them with lettuce while Andrew made a few calls to verify whether this was an isolated occurrence.

When he sleeps, it's the sleep of a man who has not found much in the way of answers. With bunnies on his mind, the rift overactive, and several personal problems elevating him to constant low-level anxiety, it's probably not much wonder that when he dreams, it's a dream wide open to intrusion.

And maybe it would be good if someone did intrude, because at the moment Andrew is struggling to dig himself out of a giant pile of fluffy bunnies. Every time he thinks he can glimpse light above him, the squirming pile shifts and he's shunted deeper, until all he can feel are warm bodies against him, smothering his attempts to emerge into fresh air.

Comments

[rae_of_sun]

Sunshine's first indication that this is a dream and not a normal morning in the coffeehouse bakery is when rabbits start to fall from the ceiling. They pour down as if a - a pipe had burst, which is ridiculous because rabbits don't flow through pipes in the first place. She doesn't even notice when some skinny guy falls out of the ceiling as well; she's too busy staring at the rabbits, flour up to her elbows and an appalled expression on her face.

You can't have rabbits in a public bakery. This is a violation of more health codes than she even wants to think about. "Vishnu's fucking conch," she moans, reaching for a broom and prodding rabbits toward the courtyard door. "Go on, get out of here!"

[bluesuit_handy]

"Help!" A grasping hand appears above the sea of fur, only to be swallowed up again a moment later. This isn't exactly comfortable; thankfully dream-logic means Andrew isn't sporting scratches for each of the many times he's already been kicked.

[rae_of_sun]

Sunshine does a double-take when she hears a voice. Gods, is there a person in there? She wades back toward the bulk of the rabbits, using the broom to gently shunt the animals aside so she doesn't step on any. Her broom bumps against something that isn't rabbit, and she bends over and reaches into the mass of rabbits, groping around for the hand she saw a moment ago. "Hey. Hello?"

[bluesuit_handy]

By all rightful logic, Andrew should not be able to sink in a pit of rabbits. By all rightful logic, the layers of rabbits should not go deep enough to even begin to conceal him. As things stand, though, he feels a hand brush his arm, and struggles to reach up and grip it.

[rae_of_sun]

For the moment, Sunshine doesn't question the fact that there must be a brand new gaping pit in the bakery floor beneath all these bunnies. Instead, she focuses on feeling for things that aren't fluff, and soon her hand brushes against something that is neither rabbit nor floor. She grabs hold of what feels like someone's arm and pulls, digging in her heels to keep from ending up in the same situation as this mystery person.

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew grips her hand with both of his, grits his teeth, and offers silent apologies to the bunnies as he squirms and struggles and kicks to get free. A moment later his head clears the top of the pile, and he gasps in air like a drowning man. "Blimey! It's like an oven in there!"

[rae_of_sun]

Well, look at this. The pit of rabbits has delivered unto her a muppet. And not a local one, if that accent is anything to go by. Just what she needs on top of all these carthaginian animals: a tourist.

"Yeah, speaking of ovens…" she casts a despairing look around her infested bakery. "None of you should be in here, but if you help me get the rabbits out the door, I'll forgive you." She might even give him a snack for the road. He's probably here to visit the Other Museum.

[bluesuit_handy]

Speaking of ovens...? Andrew looks around, and only just now notices that he's in a kitchen. A rabbit-infested kitchen, to be sure, but a kitchen. He shoves his hands in his pockets and sucks his teeth as he gazes upon the rabbits and considers their options.

"Deal," he agrees. "It's likely my fault anyway, usually is. Do you have somewhere to put them?"

[rae_of_sun]

She's not entirely sure how this is his fault. Unless he just appears in a tidal wave of rabbits wherever he goes, which… doesn't seem plausible, and she tends to set that bar pretty low to begin with.

"Courtyard," she decides, pointing to the door (conveniently propped open to let the place air out). The only other option is shunting them out into the actual coffeehouse, and that is not happening. Bad enough having them back here without having all the regulars see them. Gods, she's going to have to just… douse the place in bleach or something. But step one: get the animals out. She resumes using her broom to nudge rabbits toward the door.

[bluesuit_handy]

Good thing she didn't mention that second option, because Andrew wouldn't see a problem with it. He nods and picks up a rabbit that happens to be at his feet, and carefully picks his way to the door to set it outside. It takes him until he's picked up one or two more that he realizes they're just milling in the doorway -- and he's pretty sure one has come back in in the meantime.

"Got to be a better way," he mutters to himself. A look of inspiration crosses his face, and he digs in his pocket for his sonic screwdriver. "Aha! Stand back, there'll be a stampede in a moment." If he can find the right frequency. He comes back to the center of the kitchen and holds the screwdriver aloft, turning it on and fiddling with the settings so that the whirr and buzz climbs in pitch, waiting for it to hit the frequency that will drive the rabbits away.

[rae_of_sun]

Sunshine looks a bit puzzled at his pronouncement, but she does step back, clearing the door. Odin knows what that weird little device he's brandishing actually is, but considering this is his mess of rabbits, she's willing to entertain the notion that he actually knows how to handle them.

… And then the device starts to produce a carthaginian awful sound, and she winces, dropping the broom so she can clap her hands over her ears. It's just about enough to drive her out of the kitchen, so it doesn't surprise her when the rabbits suddenly start to scramble for the door.

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew's own expression takes a turn for the pained, one eye slowly squeezing shut as he involuntarily winces. It's working, though, clearly -- alright, maybe a few rabbits are bounding the wrong way, but that's just a matter of picking his way to the door he doesn't want them going through and driving them back the other way. Soon there are only a few stragglers, and he shuts off the screwdriver with a sigh of relief.

"Think we can get this last lot by hand," he suggests, looking pleased with himself.

[rae_of_sun]

Sunshine echoes the sigh, about as grateful that the noise has stopped as that the rabbits have largely cleared out. She retrieves the dropped broom and nudges one of the stragglers out the door. "What is that thing?" she asks over her shoulder, eyeing the screwdriver dubiously.

[bluesuit_handy]

"Sonic screwdriver," replies Andrew, giving it a little flip to show off before pocketing it. "It slices, it dices, it chases rabbits out of your kitchen -- or at least that last bit. Making anything good?"

Just gonna snoop now. Anything going on in those ovens? If he spots anything in a bowl on the counter, he's liable to stick a finger in to get a taste.

[rae_of_sun]

After setting down the broom, Sunshine turns away from the door and wipes her hands on her apron. Now that the rabbits are gone, it's hard to remember they were ever here - and the need to clean her own hands takes a back seat to the greater concern of keeping this weirdo from sticking his hands into every occupied mixing bowl.

She's tempted to say that everything is good, but that might encourage him. "Don't touch anything," she says instead, in damage control mode as she crosses the kitchen and ushers him away from the counter. "Look, just… sit here." She gestures to the little stool that is normally reserved for Mary or Aimil, or (if she's feeling especially generous) Pat or Jesse or Theo. Not random strangers, even if they have done her a favor. At least this guy's skinny enough that if he does park himself on the stool, he won't be in the way.

[bluesuit_handy]

Too late; he's already lifting a be-battered finger from the bowl and sticking it in his mouth. Andrew's eyebrows shoot up and he lets out an 'mmm!' of approval. He's just reaching for the next when she gets in his way, and he turns a high wattage pout on her before letting himself be herded away to perch on the little stool.

"I'm told I'm pregnant," he says suddenly. "You wouldn't deny a pregnant person, say, a cookie, would you? Cravings, you know."

Not that he's really pregnant, of course.

[rae_of_sun]

Sunshine casts a skeptical glance at Andrew's rail-thin torso. "With what, a tapeworm?" Without waiting for a response, she goes to the bowl he sampled from and gives it a vigorous stir.

But, okay, he did help with… something. Right? And he sure looks like he could use some feeding. She sets the bowl down, then wanders over to the cooling trays of cookies. A tiny plate gets loaded up with Killer Zebras, Triple-Fudge Chunk, Buttermost Limit, and a couple Cranberry-Oatmeal. "Here," she says, setting the plate on the counter beside him.

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew's eyebrows shoot up and he lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a tut of disapproval. "Don't listen to the mean lady, Fizgig," he says to his own belly, pressing his palms on it like he's covering his imaginary child's ears. He looks up as she approaches, and grins widely at the offering. "Much appreciated," he informs her, picking up an oatmeal cookie and taking a bite. At least he's demonstrative about his enjoyment; he'll be making all kinds of borderline inappropriate groans of appreciation while he works his way through the plate.