The team gathered at an unusual venue. It was the Concert Hall Caffè where the Wabbit was celebrating his birthday. "Happy Birthday Wabbit!" yelled Skratch. He'd only just made it in time. The Wabbit smiled. It was a relief to see him. "How old are you now? asked Lapinette. "A secret never to be revealed," grinned the Wabbit. "You may be old," said Wabsworth," but you don't carrot all." Skratch snickered long and hard. "In the Flatlands we don't show any signs of ageing." They all laughed. "Look over there," said Wabsworth, "Someone's taking a photograph." The Wabbit shrugged. "We won't charge him a copyright fee." They giggled and slapped the Wabbit on the back. "We're forgetting to ask what kind of adventure we just had." Skratch screeched a bit. "AI doesn't know anything about stories, it's not a person." Lapinette stood up. She was anxious to get to her seat early. "There is no self-consciousness there," she said, "It just parrots off what it scraped from the Internet." Wabsworth stood up too. He was in the mood for Beethoven. "Self-consciousness is overrated." Skratch thought for only a second. He was already on his feet anyway. "AI doesn't understand jokes!" A cry went up from the other concert goers. They had been eavesdropping. "Three cheers for the birthday Wabbit and his team, and their jokes," shouted the photographer. The Wabbit turned and gave him a thumbs up. "You're paying for the drinks afterwards!"
