Swift_Conin

“Hah, you are going to have to do better than that if you want some hasenpfeffer!”

Swift (a cliché name, but-Inspiration can run thin after the 10th child) long ago came to terms wth the fact that, when it came down to it, he was likely to meet his end inside someone else. So many rabbits meet their end in a gut, or a womb, or a sac, churned away into fat and fuel, or perhaps just a particularly messy, sticky orgasm. And there’s just so many rabbits in general! His siblings number in the dozens (or did, anyways-He hasn’t checked to see how many are fat on someone’s thighs recently), his extended family in the thousands. Quick to live, quick to breed, easy to replace.

So he doesn’t fret about that fact that he may be food. He revels in it. Life is short and hard, but also exciting and fun. Why flee in fear when you can run laughing? Nothing compares to the adrenaline of the chase, to fleeing, to scrambling away while someone who wants you- *deeply* wants you-chases quickly behind.

And one day, he’ll get unlucky. He’ll trip, or twist his ankle, or just grow old enough to be too slow to get away-but is that so bad? Churning away somewhere warm and dark, fuel and perhaps fertilizer-to him, it seems so much more appealing than growing slowly senile, then being pumped full of chemicals and shoved in a box in the ground.

This isn’t to say Swift is actively courting his death, eagerly looking forwards to the day he dies. Quite the opposite-He *enjoys* existing, the sites, the sensations, the sounds, the girls! And the guys. He wasn’t really picky. He wasn’t about to just give that up and throw himself down a predator’s throat. That would be boring, and unsatisfying! If someone takes him down, they have to earn it-whether through guile and seduction, strength and speed, or cunning and cleverness. He might taunt predators, sure, and put himself into situations where he might have to fight for his life-

But that’s all just part of the fun.

Swift is a fairly standard, brown, anthro rabbit. He tops out at a whopping 5’ tall (his ears bringing it up to a grant total of 5’6”), with a lanky, build-a runner’s physique. He’s generally dressed in a pair of grass-stained cargo shorts (or cutoff jeans), and an unbuttoned, black overshirt. A copper-colored earring loops through his left ear, and his wide brown eyes glance here and there, sparkling with delight. The world’s a game, and he intends to play…

Character of Harley_Chase