Under the slow warped ceiling fan, cracked neon lit up the bunny's white fur in alternating, jagged colors. Violet, pink, orange. Violet, pink, orange.           He'd been here since... He checked his watch... 5am. Six hours. So that made it... His mind toyed with math for a little bit. That made it no longer 5am.           The bar sustained fairly minimal damage in the explosion. Some cracked floor tiles, a few broken tables and the stools seemed a little wobbly, but that could have easily been the bunny's equilibrium acting up again; it had been doing that a lot lately.           I don't know what I did, he thought sadly. He was hunched over, staring miserably deep into his drink and reflecting on the past four weeks. I don't know what I did. I tried as hard as I could.           A big festive clown with a collection of horns on his belt was sitting beside him, yapping away about nothing in particular.           "So then I says to Rodney," he said, nearly shattering himself in laughter. "I says: No, you get in the cannon! Ha! Ha-ha!"           The bunny pulled his hat down over his eyes. It was the fourth time he'd heard that one tonight; not to mention the other nights he'd been subjected to this.           He took a hard swallow and felt it sear down his throat. He wished he was the type of bunny that could stand up, say something witty and then twist the clown's neck into the shape of a giraffe rather than just sitting here feeling awkward and embarrassed. He took another drink.           "That's funny," he mumbled to the clown. "But really, you don't have to keep --"           The clown slapped him hard on the back, spilling a bit of the bunny's drink. "My gifts is the gifts of laughter!" cheered the clown drunkenly. He slapped him hard on the back. "You look down, my friend. How can I help you?"           Oh great, thought the bunny. A clown that cares.           "Well if you wouldn't mind... I'd -- I'd kind of like to be alone."           "What's the matter?"           "Nothing," he said. "Nothing a clown like you would understand."           Most of it had to do with Mary; who the bunny had been avoiding for the past three and half weeks. After the explosion he'd tried to be as helpful as he could with repairs and maintenance until there was an argument Mary had won only by tying the bunny's ears to a desk and kicking it down a spiral staircase. After that, he decided he'd be better off to just stay out of everyone's way. Now he spent most of his time in the bar; losing drinking contests and self-esteem. He couldn't do anything right.           "Come on, buddy," said the clown cheerfully. "Try me!"           "I'm just not in the mood, okay?" said the bunny as sharply as he could manage. He usually felt tight and constricted being impolite, but the alcohol in his system made it slightly possible.           The clown grinned and squirted him in the face with a seltzer bottle. The bunny wiped his face with a paw.           "I said I'm not in the mood, all right? Could you please just --"           The clown squirted him again and giggled.           The bunny had a very clear mental image of him slamming down the rest of his drink and yelling, "This clown's going down!" before heaving him over some tables.           Instead of doing this, though, he paid for his drink and left in tears to find a place to sit and be alone for a while. He had a really big headache and it was only getting bigger.

Mary was again in his secret room, sulking.           His hostage situation wasn't working out nearly as well as he'd planned. Not that he'd planned at all, but if he had he would have definitely planned it to go much smoother than it was.           Maxine had been waiting for him when he returned from the village and the fights continued. Mary wound up locking himself in his room, blasting his stereo and sliding notes under the door explaining that he wouldn't come out until there was a big pile of chocolate chip cookies where formerly Maxine had been standing.           "Over my dead body," Maxine had said.           Mary waited, optimistically crouched in a corner for a while and then finally gave up and slid under his bed; down into the dark room below.           He had his feet up on the desk and was tipping the chair back dangerously.           "Hat," he said.           There was a long, cautious delay. Mary grinned in the dark and decided he definitely preferred people and things and hats after they'd suffered at least one nervous breakdown.           "Um. Hi," said the hat timidly.           Mary crossed his legs.           "How's life?" he said.           The hat drew a long pained breath. "Worrying, sir. I -- It's just been one thing after another here, you know? I just hope things will let up soon."           "I know," said Mary, "but I don't think that'll happen for a while."           The hat made the sound of someone frowning.           "Oh. Well. You're not going to, um, move us anywhere, are you? Because I... I'd really rather..."           "Is that a problem?"           "Well I really don't think that I can... you know... deal with that right now, sir. I mean, I'm awfully stressed what with Maxine realigning all my crystals and things, I -- And really, why not stay here? You seem to be having a good time with the locals..."           "Fah," spat Mary. "What do Buddhists know about a good time? Besides, Maxine says the Admiral could find us soon."           "Just between you and me," said the hat conspiratorially, "Maxine says a lot of things, sir."           "What's that supposed to mean?"           Mary got the sense the hat was looking around to make sure no-one was listening. "Whatever you need it to mean, sir."           Mary blinked and shook his head.           "Why do you suppose Maxine isn't too anxious to get back?"           "Excuse me?"           "She's a hostage. You'd think she'd be trying to get out of here or something, but it doesn't look that way. She's actually trying to help. Why?"           "Maybe she has a plan?"           "It's possible," mused Mary. "I think she's just calling my bluff. Hoping if she acts like being taken hostage is no big deal that I'll lose interest and let her go."           "It seems likely, sir."           "Yeah," said Mary. "Yeah, it --"           "Oh NO!"           "What? What's the matter?"           "Someone's entering through the porthole!"           "I thought I told you not to let anyone in!"           "It's broken, sir! I can't hold them!"           It took Mary five minutes to run there and he was immediately met by forty armed troops all sporting hostile dispositions and guns.

"DON'T MOVE!" yelled one of the troops. "PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"           "Uh."           "DO IT!"           He looked around the room.           "What happens if I don't?"           They leered their guns at him.           He leered back at them. "I'm immortal."           The troops looked at one another. He had a point there. A rather good one.           When Mary had begun as a Mad Hatter they told him that he was, due to his grievous sin of suicide, immortal and could not pass on like everyone else around him in the afterlife seemed to do so easily -- and suspiciously often. He'd only tested it a little bit by being accidentally hit by a few buses. It hurt like hell, but completely failed to kill him.           "IT WILL HURT!" yelled another troop. The others seemed to like this idea and aimed their guns. "PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"           "Oh, all right."           Mary put his hands on his head and sighed.           One of the troops pushed him against the wall and searched him.           "Hey, those are mine!" yelled Mary as they pulled a collection of fermenting squirrels out of his pocket. He frowned sulkily. They took his cane and were satisfied there were no other weapons on him.           A giant rectangular screen sprang into the air. The Admiral's face slowly filled it.           "Well, well, well," said the Admiral slowly. "It looks like the rat has finally --"           "Car."           "What?"           "Nothing," Mary snickered. "I was just messing up your line."           The Admiral smirked. "I'm afraid you're the only one around here that's going to be messed up, my --"           "Joo."           "Stop that!"           Mary hummed innocently to himself and muttered, "Dork," under his breath.           Maxine walked into the room at that very moment. She had time to say, "Oh, sorry," and turn to leave before the troops had their guns fixed on her. Mary noticed she was looking very nervous around the eyes.           "Come in!" said Mary. "I was just about to get shot!"           "Mary," Maxine said out of the corner of her mouth. "I was just coming to tell you that we've got another visitor --"           The troops threw her up against the wall and frisked her in the same fashion they'd done to Mary, except this time they came up with a large hunting knife, a handgun and a can of poison.           "Cool knife," said Mary. "What are you guys doing? She's the hostage. She hasn't done anything."           "You're stupid, Holiday," said the Admiral. "You really are. I'm so happy to be finally rid of your tiresome slacking carcass. It's not often I --"           "Cat!" said Mary.           "Shut u--"           "Sna."           The Admiral got all flustered and started to yell. "She's a killer, Mary! Don't you get it? Maxine Readily! She's been wanted in nearly forty decades!"           "Hey!" said Mary, turning to Maxine. "You killed my mom!"           "I did not!"           "Just kidding. I killed my mom. That's a little killer humor for you." He tried to nudge her playfully but the troops kept him away.           "Hilarious," said Maxine coldly, frowning.           "So what?" Mary said, turning back to the screen. "Who'd she kill? Anyone cool? Anyone that deserved to die?"           "Just four short weeks ago, on her first day back to work after suspension, she murdered her supervisor --"           Mary's jaw dropped and he stared at Maxine. "You murdered your supervisor?" She lowered her head a little bit.           "Right on!" cheered Mary. He turned back to the Admiral. "Ha!" he added. "So what are you going to do? Kill us? Hard labor? What?"           "You'll find out all in due time, Mary. Bring them aboard," he said to the troops.           "And how are you going to outwit my fan club?"           "Your what?"           "Mary?" said Maxine, remembering why she'd come down in the first place.           "Yeah," said Mary. "I'm a hot item out here, buddy. Got my own fan club and everything. Sweet isn't it? They'll probably be along any moment now to save my worshipable ass. They blew me up last time we met, but I'm pretty sure it'll go better next time. I'm a pretty charismatic guy when I try --"           "They're here," said Maxine.           "Oh. Cool," said Mary. He struggled his arms free of the troops' hold and put his hands on his hips. "So I guess you'll be exploding any moment now? Sayonara, you funky bitch goddess. Hat?"           "...yes?..."           "Shields up and all that stuff, okay?"           "Um. I guess so... but can I ask you a question, sir?"           There was the sound of an explosion and the blue screen the Admiral was on shrank into a tiny point of light and faded out.           "Sure. Shoot."           "Why?"           "Oh, I don't think you'd like the answer to that one."           "Oh no!" shrieked the hat. "It's Dracula!"           "It's not Dracula!" yelled Mary.           "Are you sure it's not Dracula?"           "I'm positive. It's my fan club."           "Oh. Okay." The hat thought a moment. "But it still could be--"           "IT'S NOT DRACULA! Now stop it and get rid of this floor!"           The floor then suddenly fell out from underneath the troops and they dropped into darkness. Mary and Maxine stood safely on two pedestals in the middle of the giant abyss.           "Jehovah's witnesses," said Mary to Maxine cheerfully. "You know I love them."

After the hat had crept away, Mary sat in the busy lounge sipping a Coke. Maxine walked in an hour later, sat down beside him and ordered a beer.           "So," she said awkwardly. "Seen the rabbit lately?"           "No." Mary was hunched over his glass staring at the shelves of glasses across from him.           "You really don't like him, do you?"           Mary sighed and put his drink back on the bar. "We're just different. He likes rules and I don't. It's a problem."           "He seems to be taking it really hard, though. You think it's wise to push him so hard?"           "What does wisdom have to do with anything? I've got thirty yaks in my room."           "I don't know, I just thought maybe you might --" she trailed off as she noticed he was looking around the room with a puzzled expression on his face. "What?"           "Do you notice anything strange about this place?"           "It's got an ugly three ton golden whale statue in the middle of it."           "Besides that."           "The dance floor's on a forty-five degree angle."           "No, besides that too."           Maxine looked around. "The drapes are a little--"           "No! How many people do we have onboard?"           Maxine thought for a moment. "About forty, I think. Not that many, why?" She looked around again and quickly counted well over forty people crowding the room.           "There are a lot of people here I don't recognize."           "You're right," Maxine said. "What's going on?"           Mary stood up and walked around, watching the people as they ordered drinks and talked and laughed and made drunken spectacles of themselves. Most of them were human but a few puppies wandered around along with some tropical looking birds that he didn't know the names of. He sat down at a table with a young man in a navy blue sweater and eyed him suspiciously.           The man looked up from his drink. "Can I help you?"           "Yes," said Mary. "How did you get here?"           The man wrinkled his nose and forehead. "You know," he said, "I'm not exactly sure. The last thing I remember was a... a race. That's right. I was in my Vette, cruising down the highway, racing against some guy at a light. And I -- oh my God! I smashed into a cop car! I'm dead!" The man was in hysterics and broke down crying. Mary frowned at him and turned back to Maxine.           "They must be getting in through the porthole," Maxine said, taking a pull of her beer. "I couldn't fix it." "And I know it seems easy," said Piglet to himself, "but it isn't everyone who could do it."           "What, so these people are just wandering into my hat from God only knows where?"           Maxine stood up. "That's what it looks like."           Mary screamed.           "What's wrong?"           "Sorry. Zipper problems," he said and then screamed again. Maxine glared at him.           "That one was about the people being in the hat thing," he said.           "Ah."