Felix, however was not one who was naturally accustomed to summers. He sat in the gazebo -- an unavoidable patch of shade -- his feet drawn carefully up in front of him as he sat with a cigarette burning away between his fingers, releasing a heavy, raspberry-laced tobacco scent.
When Dexter approached, it was only when a heavy footfall made his presence known that the little rabbit looked up, smiling that tentative, careful smile that suited him so well. A filter made its way from pouty lips, and with smoke punctuating the greeting in return he tilted his head, brushing bangs from his eyes while he spoke.