Jaimee couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt angrier – mind you, this was rather like asking a fish to remember the time it felt the most wet.
There were so many things about Fitz Bunny that were infuriating and hateful, starting with the glint in her evil black eyes and the mocking “Haw Haw!” of her laugh, but at the moment Jaimee was transfixed with fury at the sight of her former ponytail crudely affixed to Fitz’s grinning lip with spirit gum.
The long hair of a redheaded women is her pride and joy, and since that fateful morning four months ago when Fitz had passed by with a big pair of scissors and pure evil in her heart, Jaimee’s mornings staring in the mirror with the redundant Mason Pearson brush she’d been given for her 21st had been glum indeed.
While the roseate fiend was distracted by having a good chunky mock, Jaimee swooped down, grabbed her by her long ears, and with a strength that surprised many of the scattering Civic Square observers, spun Fitz around her head several times and up into the Neil Dawson fern globe, where she lodged like a surprised pink tennis ball.
Debbie craned her head up, admiringly. “Effective” she said, “but not the best long-term strategy.”
Before Jaimee could reply, there was a bright white flash and the globe disappeared, along with half of the Council’s windows. Shards of aluminium embedded themselves in the bricks at their feet, and as the white after-image faded, Fitz Bunny could be seen poised manga-like on one knuckle in the centre of a molten ceramic ring, which began making little “ping” noises.
It was at this point that Jaimee remembered Fitz had been named ‘Most Dangerous Non-Nuclear Object Which Can Fit Into A Box’ by the United Nations for five years running. They had eventually retired the award when it became clear that Fitz wasn’t going anywhere and it would be several decades before scientists could develop suitcase-sized black holes.
Nevertheless, this had been coming for a long time, so with a cry of “Have at thee!” Jaimee jumped on the glowering rabbit in a rain of fists and invective.
It was at this point (five minutes late) that Tony ambled up alongside Debbie. They watched in silence for a few seconds with their fingers entwined.
“It’s like that Yoda fight in Star Wars” offered Debbie, as the furious combatants rained blows at or near each other.
“I dunno, one of the dreadful later ones they expect us to pay again to see in 3D next year. I’m not going, are you?”
“Huh” said Tony, who’d already booked his tickets.
It was becoming apparent that the sides were too evenly matched: Fitz may have had an evil-hardened Bunniculum skeleton and the malicious intent of a thousand parking wardens, but Jaimee was so pissed off that she was proving a rare match. Things were complicated by a lack of weapons: all of the useful stores that actually sold things had moved out to the Northern suburbs, and Jaimee quickly calculated she didn’t have the time or resources to get a $500 Javanese walking stick from Kirks or a $400 Ignite cricket bat from Rebel Sports.
Thinking fast, she dashed through the Adidas Originals store and began whipping Rugby World Cup propaganda at Fitz’s melon with razor-sharp accuracy. Fitz responded by flypapering her with sticky Vacancy signs peeled from central Wellington commercial properties. There seemed to be rather a lot of them.
As they slowed down, winded, they rampaged through an Internet cafe. The fight moved briefly online: Jaimee commented cattily on Theatreview that Fitz’s musical was overrated and in no way deserved to be named one of the Herald’s Top Five plays of the year, while Fitz observed archly on The Wellingtonista that there seemed to be rather a lot of unsold copies of the Jitterati book in Cuba Mall’s Graphic, even at the low price of $12.50.
Dashing down Manners St, Jaimee had a sudden flash of inspiration, and seized a copy of the Wellingtonian. Alertly, Fitz grabbed an Independent Herald. To Debbie and Tony it was apparent that they’d both had the same idea simultaneously. To the horror of onlookers, Jaimee began to read out a worthy local news item which was too dull to appear in the Dominion Post, while Fitz countered with an advertorial. They were attempting to bore each other to death.
Unfortunately they each had to listen to their own voice while reading the items, and the pair quickly succumbed, toppling over gently onto each other like sleepy children. Debbie and Tony paused only to tweet photos of the rather sweet tableau before moving to rearrange limbs to prevent cramp and check for brain damage.
In the end they asked a passing JP to declare a draw.