Can I Offer You A Nice Egg In These Trying Times? 🐰

Chp -One shot ❄️

Can I Offer You A Nice Egg In These Trying Times?

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"Whaddya mean, Easter's cancelled?"

Bunnymund's voice rang through the Warren, scattering the herds of unpainted eggs at his feet. Jack, however, remained unmoved. He crouched atop his staff, toes curling into the wood as he stared down at the Easter Bunny before him.

"Hey, it's not my fault," he raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Don't shoot the messenger, I'm just letting you know. This Coronavirus is shaping up to be some pretty nasty stuff."

"The-what virus?"

Jack narrowed his eyes at Bunny.

"Coronavirus. Covid-19." He said. "You have been keeping up on the news, haven't you?"

Bunnymund, caught with his head in the ground, sputtered. "Look, I am not the shut-in I used t' be, ok!" which was true; the Guardians had made great strides in getting out of their comfort zones in the past eight years. The attack by Pitch made them all realize how isolated they'd become. But... well. Old habits die hard. "So what if I missed a bulletin or two?"

"Bunny," Jack huffed, exasperated. "It's a worldwide pandemic."

Frustrated, Bunny threw his hands in the air. "It's less than a month till Easter! Whaddya want from me!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "A little less denial would be nice."

Fuming, Bunnymund threw his paintbrush to the ground and stormed towards his tunnels.

Sighing, and deciding to take pity on the Pooka, Jack hopped off his staff and followed him across the grassy field. Eggs parted to let him pass. There were dozens of them, hundreds, all waiting to be painted; more were due to hatch from the Eggplants in waves as the month rolled on. The fruits of long labor. Bunny'd put a lot of work into this year's Easter, like he did every year, and it was a shame to see it all go to waste.

Bunny beelined for the European tunnels, ducking into one that Jack knew well. Bunny always seemed to be using this path. It led to a little suburb in England, the very same place where he'd been walked through on that fateful failed Easter years ago. The Pooka never said as much, but Jack suspected; England and Australia seemed to be Bunnymund's Burgess.

So when the lagomorphs hopped down on all fours and darted out of sight, Jack didn't worry. He knew where Bunny was going.

After a few minutes of picking his way through the tunnels, Jack emerged into cool air and cloudy, overcast skies. The tunnel opened up in the narrow space between two long rows of houses, with a park visible down the road. The ground was clear of snow; Jack hadn't been active here lately, but looking at the green grass springing up between the pavestones, he thought he ought to change that soon.

Bunny, to his surprise, was not darting from bush to bush as usual. When Jack arrived, the Pooka was standing smack dab in the middle of the paved streets, subtlety be damned. He turned in circles, a bewildered look creeping onto his face.

Upon spying Jack, he threw his arms out. "Crikey, Jack, it's a ghost town out here! Where is everybody!"

Jack pointed at the long rows of houses. "Inside," he explained. "...Or they better be."