Mr. Fox and Rabbit - Part 15

Dr. Bear gently covered the collapsed stage magician under a blanket of fine Mongolian horsehair. The vague sound of insectoid chewing could be heard, a susurrating, mellow background symphony to the general hustle-bustle of the tree.
Mr. Fox brought everyone large, steaming mugs of cocoa in friendly blue earthenware.
“Succulent!” Rabbit closed his eyes and breathed in the chocolaty vapors. “Dammit, he did not sign. Yet.”
Dr. Bear frowned. “You mean… He did not execute the document.”
“Or set his seal thereupon?” added Mr. Fox helpfully.
“Yes. I suppose so. Why is this important?”
“We could dip his paw in ink…”
“He has hands. He has hands.”
“Of course… We could dip his hands in ink and press it on the will. Then I will possess his vast riches, all to myself!” Rabbit gleefully rubbed his hands together.
A fly on the wall rubbed his front legs together. “Yeeeees, my little furry puppet…” whispered the small insect to himself. “Do it again... The more you mimic me, the more you become my servant…”
Rabbit rubbed his paws together again. “Excellent! Now we are going somewhere.” He pulled on the human’s hand sticking out from underneath the blanket – the appendage conveniently came free of its moorings, the flesh on the arm already stripped bare from the bone. Worker 3211A through 3221Y raised their collective fists and shook them with impotent rage. Rabbit licked them off the bone, pursing his lips like a gourmand with a penchant for fresh meat. “Fabulous! Now all we need is a pail of ink.”
“I have no pail.” Growled Mr. Fox. “I have a bucket.”
Rabbit collapsed into a resentful ball of simpering rage. “You would insult me… insult my family… with a bucket?”
“Think of it as a linzer tart.”
Rabbit eagerly licked his lips. “Raspberry linzer? In that case, fine.” He eyed the bucket in the corner with drooling desire. “I need you…” he whimpered, cornering it. “I must… have you.”
The bucket said nothing.
“Stop playing with your food. Just put ink in it and soak wassisname’s hand in it.” Mr. Fox unfurled the will and held it against the floor. “Just press it down here. The hand. His hand. You know. The stage magician.”
“Benny.”
“Benny, right.”
Rabbit followed Mr. Fox’s instructions and inserted the hand into the bucket of ink. He fondly licked the bucket with his long tongue. “It does not taste like raspberries.” Rabbit’s voice was tinged with resentment.
“It is because it was never baked.” Mr. Fox rolled his eyes with undisguised exasperation. “So obvious, dummy.”