"Chief?" Vincent hesitantly called out to his lover. "Are you alright?"

"'M fine!" was the grunted reply.

"Then why are you under the picnic table?" The gunslinger wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer.

"Ah'm just stayin' out of the way."

"Oh." He continued to stare at the table's chipped and weathered top. "Why?"

"Gambit."

"Xena and Rick's hatchling?" Cid made a noise of agreement. "Why does he have you under a table?"

"Bunnies are proportioned so that they can almost fly, kind of like a chicken."

"So?"

"So you may want to duck." Had Vincent been given more warning, he may have been able to dodge the baby chocobo that slammed into the back of his head.