Monday, September 30, 2013
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
The Wabbit hopped out into the sun to face the Slifts. "I hope you took that offer of the Fake Fur Futures," he called. "We didn’t," snorted the Slifts. "Then that was ill-advised," said the Wabbit and he snorted too. Looking down, he flicked imaginary lint from his own fur then looked up. "Futures are what the future’s all about, you know." "But we bought the fake furs," said the Slift leader. The Wabbit stared in mock astonishment. "What on earth did you pay?" he chortled. "A Zillion Gazillion," said a Slift too quickly. The other glared at him menacingly. "For the consignment?" asked the Wabbit. "No, each," they said together. The Wabbit’s eyes went wide. "I have very bad news," he said. "There's been a double-dip recession. The bottom’s just fallen out of the fake fur market." "What about our money?" asked the Slifts. "Don’t tell me you actually spent it," asked the Wabbit and he spread his paws wide. "Please, please tell me you didn't hand over actual cash." The Slifts nodded. The Wabbit shook his head sadly. "I’ll take the fake fur off your hands - and I promise to pay you in the future," he said. "Call it a special investment. Think of it as money in the bank." "I'd really rather not," said the Slift Leader.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
The Wabbit put his part of the plan into action. He asked for volunteers from his personal guard, the 400 Rabbits - but they all came, smelling of fresh paint and placards. The 400 Rabbits poured into Testaccio, formed a solid wall across the stockyard and waited. And when the stock arrived they started to shout at the hapless creatures. "No further!" they cried. "Stop there!" The stock halted. One of the Wabbit’s trusted cadres hopped forward in front of the Wabbit and addressed the stock directly. "Livestock!" he shouted. "Who will buy you now?" The stock agitated. "You are already bought - but not paid for," shouted the 400 Rabbits. A silence fell, except for a slithering of paws on cobbles. "Then who will feed us?" shrieked the stock. "We were given only the best of fodder and grew fat." This time the Wabbit hopped forward. "Your masters grew fat on your fur!" he yelled. "Join us and make certain that fur is in short supply." One of the stock, different from the rest, hopped forward. "That will not save our fur. Our fur will only get a higher price on the market." The Wabbit’s lip curled and only three of his 28 teeth glinted in the sun. "Today, my fellow rabbit," he grimaced, "we will render your fur unobtainable." He paused for effect. "And tomorrow it will be out of fashion."
Monday, September 16, 2013
The Wabbit and Lapinette sat down at a beer crate to discuss a change of plan. The Wabbit said that Lapinette’s plan wouldn’t work because the creatures were too bright. Lapinette said that she could persuade them with feminine guile. The Wabbit responded by saying that usually worked, but in this case the Slifts were impervious. Lapinette asked why. The Wabbit argued that where matters of profit were concerned, only one thing worked. Lapinette rapped the crate with a paw and asked what that could possibly be. The Wabbit shrugged. "Force," he said emphatically and he hit the crate so hard that it shook and bits fell off. Lapinette sighed. "What do I have to do?" she asked. The Wabbit advised Lapinette that she should stick to the first part of her plan, but to raise the price of the fake fur to an unimaginable level. "What will you do?" she asked. The Wabbit shrugged again. "I will make any alternative impossible." "The Slifts won’t like it," said Lapinette. The Wabbit drew back his lips and 28 teeth sparkled in a shaft of light that sliced through a hole in the roof. "Rock the Kasbah," said the Wabbit.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
This looked like a stockyard to the Wabbit and his fur crawled. Something deep in his species memory scraped him with sharp claws and he shrank into a corner and pulled out his automatic. "I don’t like the smell of this," muttered the Wabbit and his nose twitched. He could smell rust and brick and wood, but there was another thing - something from the past. The odour became palpable. The smell of rubber hoses and drains, a damp smell like old gaiters long abandoned in a dank cellar. It was only then that he heard them. There were three and they floated a half metre above the cobblestones. The Wabbit’s ears pricked up and he strained to understand the short series of moans and crackles that hung in the air like ghostly static. He picked up single words. Packers, breeders, consignment, merchandise, livestock. His paw gripped his gun tightly as the spectral voices became clearer. "Ghastly business we’re in," said one, "I can hear the creatures bellow." "We meet demand," said the other. "It's not as if it’s us who eat them," said the last. The Wabbit's ears grew hot and he gritted his teeth. A hard object poked him in the ribs. He knew for sure it was the barrel of an automatic and it certainly wasn't his own. Then a voice. "Stay completely still and don’t move a hair."
Monday, September 09, 2013
The Wabbit followed Lapinette closely and remained completely unobserved. As a secret agent, that was his job. At the same time, it was Lapinette’s job as a secret agent to spot him. But she seemed so intent on her journey that she didn’t seem to notice the Wabbit on her tail. He followed her all the way from the seaside and into an old industrial neighbourhood in the city. All this time, the Wabbit stayed a discreet distance behind while theories raced though his head. What on earth was her destination? "It might be another fashion show," thought the Wabbit. Perhaps she was going to meet a different kind of agent altogether - a fashion industry agent who pocketed 30 per cent of her vast earnings. The Wabbit considered and glanced around the area. It had seen better days and although it was under development, it didn’t seem like a fashion industry sort of place. But he remained icy calm and hopped quietly along the sidewalk in pursuit as Lapinette crossed the road to an old building. It looked like an abandoned railway station, but on closer inspection he reckoned it was a factory or a warehouse. The Wabbit stopped, looked for another way in and changed direction. "Uptight, out of sight," he hummed.
Saturday, September 07, 2013
It wasn’t difficult for the Wabbit to crash the event. With a paw over the date, he flashed his ancient press card and hopped across the beach. "I’ll never get the sand out of my fur," he grumbled. Worse was to come. Amidst much attention, Lapinette was modelling a strange garment. "It’s a fur coat," muttered the Wabbit with astonishment. The Wabbit knew several things. He knew Lapinette already had perfectly good fur. His fur could feel the beach was baking hot. And the campaign against the fur trade was dear to their hearts. He glanced up at a familiar sound to see Susan the Biplane trailing a fashion banner. The Wabbit flinched in the sun's glare. "I really am in the dark." So the Wabbit ignored the temperature, watched Lapinette strut the runway and had a think. He examined all the options. "Lapinette is up to something," he murmured, "and I’m going to get to the bottom of it." He was gripped by a flash of inspiration. "I have it!” thought the Wabbit. "Now what’s that thing models do – smize?” He fluttered his eyes and although he felt foolish, loped gracefully forward himself, raising his paws higher than was strictly necessary. "I can model my own fur and get on the inside," he grinned. "Then I won’t be in the dark." He heard a polite clapping. "Fur whom the bell tolls," he grinned.