Baffy (Bugs Bunny x Daffy Duck)

Chapter 1 (Bugs' POV)

The parade float screeched to a stop behind me, just as I was removing a letter from the mailbox. I knew it was the parade float because of the unusual shape of the shadow it cast over our house. I turned around, subconsciously taking a bite of my carrot—eating was a nervous habit of mine.

The windows rolled down. Obviously, Daffy was in the driver's seat.

"Get in," he said, without looking at me. I didn't even complain at this point—I just walked around the car, opened the door, and got inside, knowing he'd have an explanation for me then. The window rolled up—really dramatically, of course—and the car started moving. "Do you thknow where we're going?"

"No, where?" He grabbed his drink and took a long sip, making slurping noises which made me politely look away.

"To The Future." I rolled my eyes.

"Which means?"

"It's a restaurant. That's the restaurant's name."

"Fancy?" I doubtfully glanced down. I wasn't wearing any clothes—I wasn't dressed fancy.

"Probably," he said, matter-of-factly. Ok, I understood that he wouldn't tell me why he was taking me to a restaurant, but not why he didn't care about what the restaurant was like.

"Probably? I can't go like this!" He gave me what I guess was supposed to be a very reassuring look.

"Bugs. Relaxth."

"You know I'm relaxed enough as it is."

"Then you shouldn't have a problem with being relaxed now."

"I do, because you have a problem!" I searched for the word. "With conventionality!"

We arrived at the restaurant, which was, to my utter euphoria, fancy. I crossed my arms and looked at Daff angrily.

"Ok, you may not care what you look like, but I do."

"No, you don't. You wouldn't agree to driving around in a parade float if you did." I made an angry noise in the back of my throat—he had a point. "Anyway, come on. I made a reservation."

"Table for two?" We were asked upon entering. This caught me by surprise—why had he reserved a table for two? I thought the point of coming here had been to meet up with friends. He led me to our table, and we sat down. I glanced around, hopefully in a way casual enough so as to not attract his notice. Some people hadn't any clothes, so I guess... there wasn't much to stress about. Able to relax, I turned around to face him. His shoulders were hunched over as he read the menu from up close, which was spread out on the table before him. I laughed.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to pick my meal," he said, very casually and very seriously. I grinned. He scanned the list of options as though it were a life-or-death decision; he paused to read the description for even the wine, of which he never drank. Looking up and sighing in mock annoyance, I opened my menu and looked at the meals. I didn't bother reading everything. I just... scanned the options until I found a familiar choice. "Carrots," he said. I didn't understand he was referring to me until he touched my foot with his, which sent shivers up my leg. I looked up at him, trying to keep from blushing; trying to keep from smiling.

"Are you talking to me?" He most certainly was. I had to ask—he often talked to himself. But so did I. The wonderful—okay, one of the wonderful things about living with a crazy duck was that you didn't have to worry about him hating any of your faults which would be considered 'weird' by other people. He pointed out certain options, and I watched intently.