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It’s time to make some April Art! 😀
In this post we join Detective Inspector Rick “Easter” Rabbiton.
When a frantic little bird named Dudley delivers troubling news, Rick uncovers an abandoned hatchery and a conspiracy born of eggs.
Greg Grasshoppers – mad scientist, mischief-maker, and part-time villain – has created an army: a chicken of doom, a scheming crocodile, a swim-shorted frog, and a confused hobbit with a hunger for trouble.
It’s an Easter like no other, and the Hatching Hour has begun.
Will Rick Rabbiton stop this eggstreme uprising, or will the final yolk be on him?
* All character bios are the property and fever dream of Fishbird Central. Stay tuned for further adventures from our nonsensical imagination! Yay art! Yay stories! Yay you!
Message From the Sky:
Detective Inspector Rick “Easter” Rabbiton tightened his coat against the biting wind as he trudged up the lonely hill towards the old hatchery.
As if scripted by the cupids of coincidence themselves, at just that moment a tiny shape swooped toward him.
Rick held out a disturbingly human hand for a rabbit, as Dudley – the smallest, most frantic bird Rick had ever seen – perched breathlessly on his fingertip.
“Trouble!” Dudley chirped, all a quiver. “Bad eggs! Bad eggs!”
Rick raised an eyebrow, annoyed at the stereotype. Just because he was a rabbit and it was the Easter long weekend – didn’t mean he was responsible for all egg related trouble.
Anyway, trouble usually came after the eggs hatched, and then it was Central’s scramble to sort.
The Hatchery's Secret:
Rick realised he should probably ask some more questions of Dudley and transferred his bubble-pipe to a top pocket.
“What are you going on about, Dudley?”
Calmed a little by Rick’s brusque response, Dudley explained “There’s some weird egg business happening in the old hatchery! Thought you might want to know before you just stumbled upon it.”
Rick threw Dudley back into the sky and pushed open the creaking doors of the abandoned hatchery. The dim space was lit by the pulsing glow of hundreds of eggs shimmering ominously.
A single word was scrawled in red paint across the far wall: “RISE.”
Rick’s ears twitched. He’d recognise that handwriting anywhere.
“Greg Grasshoppers,” he growled under his breath. “The most brilliant and most unhinged mind I’ve ever tried … and failed … to catch.”
Enter Greg Grasshoppers:
From behind a stack of crates, Greg Grasshoppers emerged stage-left like a villain in a questionably written play. His antenna twitched with manic energy.
“Ah, Rick! Just in time for the great hatching! I’ve perfected it! A new generation of creatures to bring down your Rabbiton empire! Aren’t I brilliant?!”
Rick kept one hand on his bubble-pipe, which was secretly filled with grasshopper sedative.
“Brilliance doesn’t usually involve creating an army of who-knows-what from eggs, Greg. Also, I don’t have an empire, I’m merely one rabbit with a nose for solving crime.”
Greg laughed, the sound bouncing eerily off the walls.
“You can’t fool me, Rabbiton. I’ve heard talk of your Den of Detectives. You’re training a warren of bunnies to hop in your forensic footsteps. That won’t do! My crime capers might crumble!”
“It’s time to meet your eggy doom, Rick!”.
Cracks in the Shell:
As if on cue, the nearest egg shivered and cracked.
From it burst a TINY CHICKEN OF DOOM, wings akimbo like a military general.
Rick stepped back instinctively. “Greg,” he said slowly, “why is the chicken looking at me like that?”
Greg beamed. “Because he’s your new commanding officer! General Peckworth!”
“Hang on, hang on” stammered Rick. “He’s barely out of his shell – how has he managed to outrank me already? Bruce must have mucked up the gazette notifications again.”
“Ha!” Greg chuckled. “You fool, General Peckworth has been genetically altered to be your superior in every field!”
More eggs trembled in their nests, and Rick knew he had only minutes before a full-scale feathered uprising ensued.
An Unruly Army:
Next, if you can believe it, a crocodile the size of a kitten slithered free from a pile of crushed eggshell – jaws snapping in an alarming but cute manner.
A frog in a tiny pair of swimming trunks emerged closely behind – loudly protesting the lack of snacks in Frogginese.
From the smallest egg stumbled a dazed hobbit, also mumbling about missed second breakfasts and something about precious rings.
Rick pulled out a notepad and muttered grimly, “Chicken of doom. Crocodile saboteur. Frog swim star. Starving hobbit. Typical Easter madness.”
He shot Greg a hard look. “You’re going back behind bars, Grasshoppers.”
Dudley's Gambit:
Dudley, brave despite being previously thrown back into the sky, zoomed past Rick and snatched Greg’s master remote.
Greg had designed a glittering remote device that seemed to control the hatchery’s temperature and growth acceleration.
Howling, Greg grasshoppered in outrage and lunged after Dudley, but Rick was slightly faster.
In two swift moves, Rick tackled Greg and thrust his bubble-pipe of grasshopper sedative in Greg’s gross mouth, cuffing his legs together with a spare bit of ribbon he’d found last Easter.
“You’re going away for a long time, for whatever has happened in this hatchery Greg. Never mind all that trouble you caused last year in the chocolate factory.” Rick smiled for no reason.
Dudley chose that moment to drop Greg’s remote into a vat of egg acid.
Not Quite Over:
With Greg subdued and the remote destroyed, the eggs stopped trembling. Rick eyed the already-hatched creatures warily.
“You’re going to need a lot more than ribbons to deal with them,” Dudley chirped.
Rick sighed. “First, coffee. Then crowd control.”
As the sun rose behind the battered hatchery, Rick had one thought: Easter would never be the same again.
Especially if General Peckworth found out he’d never formally finished his detective training. Oh well, that was a worry for another day.
Dudley flew down to give the Hobbit a hand with cleaning up the eggshells, while the crocodile whistled a happy tune to keep everybody’s spirits up.
Or did he?
Yes.
Or DID he …
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