#therabbit

🐰

🔺

it’s quiet here, only the sound of trickling water and the company of birdsong…

The church is quiet in the way it always is.

Listening.

Breathing through paint and fractured glass.

The Rabbit is mid-motion something between a stretch and a poised stillness, her attention split between a half-finished canvas and the mirror that never quite reflects correctly.

Hex stands nearby, exactly where he prefers to be: present, unhurried, untouched by urgency.

“…You’ve been particularly industrious,” he murmurs, his golden gaze drifting over the canvases like one might admire a gallery curated specifically for them.

The Rabbit flicks an ear in acknowledgment.

And then

Something falls from the ceiling.

Not drops.

Not descends.

Falls.

A long, boneless shape unfolds mid-air like fabric reconsidering its purpose, stretches once...twice....and then lands directly across Hex’s shoulders with a soft, victorious fwump.

“…Salutations, most illustrious and unfathomably correct entity,” Beanie declares grandly, draped like a very opinionated scarf. “I have arrived.”

Hex does not startle.

He does not flinch.

He simply exhales.

“…Of course you have.”

The Rabbit freezes.

Her head turns slowly, gaze locking onto the new variable that interrupted the flow of the room.

Beanie, sensing attention, rotates their entire upper half upside down without moving their lower half at all.

“Ah! Mistress of Mirror and Magnificent Menace!” they chirp, switching tones instantly, voice bright and delighted. “Dost thou wish for a squibble? I am replete with squibbles this fine—whatever this is!”

The Rabbit stares.

Not confused.

Not amused.

Just… assessing. She blinks once recognizing the small white creature. A smile gracing her pale features.

Beanie beams.

Hex reaches up at last, gently taking a handful of Beanie’s… form (it obligingly squishes) and lifting them just enough to settle them more comfortably around his shoulders.

“You’re shedding again,” he notes mildly using a careful talon to pluck what could be excused as white fur from his strong shoulder.

“I am expanding,” Beanie corrects with dignity, immediately elongating down his back like a living sash. “It is a sign of excellent emotional health.”

“…Mm.”

The Rabbit steps closer.

Slow.

Measured.

Beanie notices instantly.

Their entire form perks if something boneless can be said to perk.

“Oh! Oh! Inspection! I adore inspection!”

They stretch just a little...reaching toward her with a soft, wiggling enthusiasm.

The Rabbit does not retreat.

She leans in instead, smiling and tucking a long white silk strand behind one of her human ears.

Close enough that her presence distorts the edges of Beanie’s already questionable shape.

A pause.

She pokes them.

Once.

Very deliberately.

Beanie gasps.

A full, theatrical intake of nonexistent breath.

“I have been acknowledged,” they whisper, awestruck.

Hex hums softly.

“That tends to happen when you make yourself unavoidable.”

Beanie immediately flops sideways off his shoulders/

.lands without landing

and puddles at The Rabbit’s feet like a delighted, sentient scarf, before POPPING into a soft vague bunny shape

“Carry me,” they demand sweetly. “Or do not! I shall simply be here in a manner that suggests I am meant to be carried!”

The Rabbit tilts her head.

Then, without hesitation, she scoops them up.

Not carefully.

Not roughly.

Just… decisively.

Beanie melts into her hands with a pleased little wiggle, reformed into something vaguely rabbit-shaped but still far too soft to be structurally sound.

“Ahhhh,” they sigh. “This is correct. This is extremely correct.”

Hex watches them both, expression softening just a fraction.

“…You’ve made a decision,” he observes.

The Rabbit glances at him.

A flicker of that same instinctive certainty.

Beanie nods solemnly from her arms.

“She has, my liege. I concur with her entirely, though I have not the faintest idea what it is.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Beanie beams.

The Rabbit shifts slightly, adjusting her hold subtle, instinctive...keeping Beanie close while her gaze returns, inevitably, to Hex.

The moment settles.

Strange.

Balanced.

Hex’s attention lingers on them on the way chaos has inserted itself into something otherwise ritualistic… and been accepted without question.

“…Very well,” he murmurs.

Beanie perks up again.

“Is it snack time?”

“No.”

“A tragedy.”

The Rabbit makes a soft sound, something low, something pleased.

Beanie immediately echoes it in a wildly inaccurate but enthusiastic attempt.

Hex closes his eyes briefly, something like a quiet laugh escaping him.

“…I see this is my evening now.”

Beanie nods.

“Indeed. You are booked.”