rabbit season
by greensilver
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Georgia dropped down next to him, sliding into a boneless sprawl that defied the pew's every attempt to make her sit upright. Paul almost envied her the ability; he hadn't been able to slouch in church since he was six. On the rare occasions when he tried, his spine just wouldn't cooperate. Georgia's spine, on the other hand, had been on a permanent curve since her fourteenth birthday, at least; that was when they'd first realized that she'd become taller than him."Yeah, they're them," Paul said, tossing a piece of carrot into the pen. The fist-sized rabbits inside ignored the carrot entirely; they were more interested in sniffing out the perimeter of their enclosure. Looking for a way out, probably – not that he blamed them. He probably wouldn't want to be stuck in there, either.
"And they're just gonna sit there during the masses, like decorations, or something?" She sat up a little and slid to the edge of the pew, peering into the pen.
"They aren't decorations." He couldn't keep an exasperated note out of his voice; she had to poke at everything, didn't she? "They're for the kids, you know – like a, a—"
"Petting zoo," she filled in. "A bunny petting zoo for Easter."
"I guess." He tossed another piece of carrot into the pen. "What, are you actually gonna tell me you don't want to pet the rabbits?"
She froze with her hand halfway to the pen, and shot him a dirty look over her shoulder. "Who gets to run the zoo?"
"Me." He slid off the pew and leaned over the altar rail, fishing out one of the slower-moving rabbits. The rabbit was cuddled up to Georgia's chest almost before he could offer it to her; she gave him a look that just dared him to make something of it. He was sorely tempted to do exactly that, but instead, he just said, "I'm serving every mass this year, anyway."
"I thought you served every mass every year." She stole a piece of carrot from his bag. The rabbit immediately went for the carrot, its nose twitching wildly; Georgia looked far too pleased with herself, like feeding a rabbit was some kind of accomplishment.
He held out a piece of carrot to one of the rabbits in the pen, but it just ignored him.
Georgia fed her rabbit another carrot. "What happens to them when Easter is over?"
He couldn't resist the opening. "Stew?"
"Paul." That scolding tone was Poppi all over, but she'd probably hit him if he told her so. "Be serious."
"I think they're being donated to the orphanage." He lightly stroked two fingers along the downy-soft ears of the closest rabbit. The rabbit put up with the attention for about a second before it turned around, bit him, and ran for the far corner. That figured. If they bit any kids tomorrow, it'd be a nightmare; he could already hear the crying. "Don't tell anyone, though."
"I guess you'll be cleaning out rabbit cages for a while, then." She handed him back her rabbit; that one bit him, too. "You'd better be careful, though – I don't think they like you."
"They like me just fine," he said, resettling on the pew. "They think I taste great."
She laughed, the sound almost masking the distinctive crinkle of a plastic wrapper. Was she actually going to eat candy in church? He'd have to kill her. Of course, he'd have to get her outside the church before he could do that, and she did have a couple inches on him – and just like the rabbits, she was a biter, which was something else to consider. "Have you named them yet?"
"I figured I'd let the kids name them," he said, eyeing her hand as it dug around in her pocket, crinkle-crinkle. "My guess is we'll have a Bugs, a Thumper, and a Fluffy."
"Hopper." She pulled a slightly flattened package of Peeps out of her pocket. The wrapper was already open, and only two were left; both looked a little worse for wear. "Flopsy." She shook out both Peeps, broke them apart, and handed him one. "Patches—"
"Georgia—"
"Oh, for crying out loud, Paul." She bit the head off her Peep with gusto, like she was showing him how it was done. "Take a walk on the wild side, would you?"
He hesitated. "Well—"
The rear doors swung open, the noise echoing in the empty church. "Paul? Georgia?"
Georgia sat up ramrod straight and stuffed the entire Peep into her mouth, chewing as fast as she could. She gestured at him frantically, indicating for him to do the same; instead, he froze, the Peep clutched in one hand. Leave it to Georgia to get them busted for Peeps, of all things—
She yanked the Peep out of his hand, and stuffed it into the carrot bag.
Poppi rounded the corner, stopping in front of them with his hands clasped behind his back. Paul couldn't tell whether or not Georgia was still chewing; he didn't dare turn to look at her.
"How's it coming, kid?" Poppi peered into the pen. "Is that secure? We can't have any rabbits escaping during mass."
"Um," Paul said.
"Good." Poppi leaned toward the pen; for a moment, Paul thought Poppi was going to pick up one of the rabbits, but Poppi just shook the fence a little to test its stability. "We don't need to leave them out for the midnight mass, so put them back in their cages for the night before you leave."
"Sure. I mean – yes, I will." They weren't going to get in trouble. That seemed kind of incredible – nearly impossible – but Poppi was already headed for the side door, and he hadn't given them so much as a reproving look. Georgia elbowed him repeatedly, already declaring victory.
Poppi stopped at the door, and glanced back at them. "Georgia? You might want to clean up before dinner," he said, and tapped one corner of his mouth.
Georgia reached up on reflex, and Paul finally risked a glance at her; there was a broad yellow smear of Peep sugar on the side of her mouth, impossible to miss. The rest of her was rapidly turning bright red, and her eyes were wide as saucers; so much for taking a walk on the wild side.
Poppi just shook his head, that one gesture an entire lecture on the subject of eating Easter candy in church, and left.
Georgia waited until the door was safely shut before defiantly slouching back down in the pew. "He should just be glad it's Peeps we're sneaking, and not booze or pot."
"Georgia!" That was it. The line had to be drawn somewhere, and that was it, right there.
"Oh, relax." She dug his Peep out of the carrot bag and ripped off its head, handing him the decapitated portion. "If you're going to get busted for eating Peeps in church, you might as well—"
He ate what was left of the Peep in two bites, just to quiet her down.
"A dollar says you confess that later," she said, and stood up, brushing sugar off her clothes. "Save me a seat at dinner."
"I'm going to save you a seat across the room," he muttered, "so that when lightning strikes you, I won't be electrocuted on accident—"
"Yeah, yeah," she called back, her voice echoing so loudly that God Himself could probably hear, much less anyone lurking in the sacristy. "You always say that, but you never deliver."
The door slammed shut behind her, and then the church was silent, blessedly silent.
Paul reached into the carrot bag, pulled out a small handful, and popped a few into his mouth. If the rabbits weren't going to eat them, he might as well.