Mr. Fox and Rabbit - Part I

“I have some good news – I no longer have any fear of death.” Muttered the little red fox.
Rabbit picked up the flamethrower. “Good.” Said Rabbit, fingering the trigger. “You are gonna need that.” He depressed the mechanism. Fiery plasma enveloped the suddenly shrieking orange ball of fur formerly known as Mr. Fox. Rabbit yawned.
“Time for honey.” Dr. Bear stepped over the cooling gristle on his way to the refrigerator.
“You always refrigerate your honey?” frowned Rabbit.
“Doesn’t everyone? I mean, it’s full of sugar. Don’t you refrigerate cake?”
Rabbit stared straight ahead, thinking about this. “Well… I don’t. I don’t even eat cake, though. I eat carrots. Only carrots. Sometimes I hunt, of course, for meat.”
“Do you eat the meat?” Bear finally had his paws around the pot of honey. His eyes roved over the impossibly complicated technology.
“Well, I tried to eat the meat once. I was sick for days. No, I don’t eat the meat.”
“Why do you hunt, then?”
“It is my god-given right as a forest-dwelling animal. I hunt.”
Bear simply dropped the pot. It shattered. The honey oozed all over Fox’s grisly remains. The immense ursanoid lowered his bulk and began to lick the sticky sweetness with his gigantic, raspy red tongue. “Tasty…” he mumbled.
“I can’t believe you would taint that wonderful honey with all those disgusting chemicals.”
Bear raised his head with obvious distaste. “Well, you are the one who had to use a flame thrower.”
“What else was I supposed to use? Screw him to death? Or maybe I was supposed to run away until he chased me to the point of a heart attack? How can you be so dumb?”
“I would kill you for that… but you are too fast to catch.”
“Or I can just fry you as well.” Rabbit trained the tube on the bear. “You would burn like he did.”
“Blah blah. Like you could pay the rent all by yourself.” The bear finished the honey. His maw was covered in sticky ash.
“Good point.” Rabbit lowered the weapon. “You do realize those ashes are carcinogenic? It’s not just the ash itself – it’s the heavy traces of kerosene.”
“I am fully aware that eating corpses is not healthy, even when they are dipped in honey. It’s not like I have never done it before.”
Rabbit looked interested. “Bears are scavengers?”
“Uhm. You remember Mr. Pig?”
“But Pig was not dead. He was just passed out, drunk, on his doorstep.”
Bear blushed. This was, of course, invisible under all that fur. You could tell he was blushing from his voice and from the way he shook his rump. “Oh… He was just passed out?”
“You didn’t… I guess you did. That explains why I have not seen him of late. Or the new, bleached white skull decoration in front of Mr. Pig’s door. That is not a reproduction, is it?”
“Who would have such a thing for art?”
“Pig would. Would have. Would have had? He always had morbidly bad taste.” Rabbit chuckled at his own joke. He looked up at the sound of the engine outside. “That better not be another lumberjack with a chainsaw.”
Dr. Bear shook his head. “I recognize the engine. That’s Perfectly Frank’s Suzuki Samurai. I asked him to come over.”
“Why? Who the hell is perfectly frank?”
“He is bringing weed. His name is Toad.”