eyesofaserpent | Drink Count: 9 | Things have been OK for me except that I'm a zombie now

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Drink Count: 9 | Things have been OK for me except that I'm a zombie now

Backdated to Sunday

A. [Action: Wherever the hell he finds Lyn]

[Crowley is heading into work in his Bentley when he sees... Well, a bunch of what looks like people staggering around. In the middle of the road, even. They don't really look to be in the best of shape. And then he sees a few clustered around a familiar blonde head. He frowns. This doesn't seem right at all and the hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end. He rolls down the window.]

Lyn! Need a hand?

B. [Action: 915 Bilko Boulevard]

[After having taken a bite to the neck, Crowley isn't feeling very well. At least the bleeding stopped...]

C. [Action: About town]

[OH HEY LOOK. It's a Crowley zombie. He doesn't looks terribly happy. And maybe a little hungry.]

There's seriously no cure for this bullshit?

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[And here's the not!wife who is currently pretty damn worried.]

What the hell happened? Are you alright?

Er... Not really.

[Since when did April smell so..... irresistibly delicious?]

Something bit me. I think it was one of the drones, but he looked dead. Like a.... fuck, like a zombie.

[How the hell did Lyn, of all people, manage to be cornered by shuffling undead? He's fast, he's paranoid, he's seen enough movies to know all the goddamn tropes, how did this fucking happen. The answer, as it happens, is deceptively simple; there are zombies fucking everywhere, he didn't have the nerves to stay put in one place, and he's run out of energy to just teleport away from the encroaching hordes by now...which means he's also out of energy for, say, transforming into his demonic form, where he'd at least have wings and some natural weapons, and is only barely able to manage a few fireballs. Which, as it turns out, aren't helping, because zombies don't care if they're on fire. This would have been incredibly useful information a few minutes ago.

At least he had the sense not to leave his house completely unarmed...although he was restricted by what little Mayfield has seen fit to provide its residents with, so the best he has right now is a gore-smeared metal bat.

Crowley's arrival couldn't be more timely, because Lyn has never in his life been so glad to see another demon. However, the inane question is answered in the form of a frustrated scream.]

What the fuck does it look like?!

[Okay, he deserved that response. He looks in his car and finds an old tire iron, grabs it and steps out, shutting the door behind him. No sense in having the car open to the undead public. He saunters toward Lyn with his makeshift weapon (hey, if it was good enough to face his boss with, it's good enough to face zombies with), doing his best to clear a path.

Lyn! Get in the car. I'll take you wherever. Probably a rooftop.

[Lyn sure as hell doesn't need to be offered the invitation twice. He smashes a zombie back and then barrels past it toward Crowley's car. Considering how surrounded he was, it's a testament to his sheer desperation (and the furious bat-swinging he's been doing as a result) that he hasn't actually been bitten yet - though if Crowley hadn't come along, it would only have been a matter of time.

Not very much time, either.

Hope you don't mind zombie blood all over your car interior, Crowley...Lyn's pretty well splattered with it.]

Come on, then, let's get the fuck out of here! [Why the fuck is Crowley sauntering? Clearly his fellow demon has not been watching the right movies at all for this situation.]

[He's not quite at that panicky stage yet to stop sauntering. He swing the tire iron through the head of another hapless zombie. He makes a face, looking vaguely ill.]

Y-yeah, let's.

[He'll wash the interior of his car later, Lyn.]

So c'mon! [If Crowley doesn't get back in the car soon, Lyn is going to clamber into the driver's seat himself. Not that he'll leave without Crowley unless the demon gets completely buried in zombies, but he'll consider it faster than waiting for Crowley to get behind the wheel himself...

And, just as a personal note, Crowley, it would not be wise to trust Lyn behind the wheel of your beloved car. Or any car.

In the meantime, however, he actually reaches out and tries to grab Crowley's shirt to yank him back toward the car. HOW CAN HE INSTILL THE PROPER SENSE OF URGENCY INTO THIS MAN.]

[It is just as he is tugged forward and about to get in the car that one of the zombies lunges at him from behind and bites his neck. Crowley lets out a shout of pain and shoves the zombie off him, turning to swing the tire iron into it's head.]

Fuck.

[He slips into the car and slams the door shut. It's only moments before the car roars to life and tears off down the streets. He's careful to avoid running over zombies, but that's because he knows he can't repair his car if it's damaged.]

[Lyn, unfortunately, was watching when this happened. And, for reasons Crowley may not immediately understand, he immediately scrambles from the front seat into the back, to put a bit more distance between himself and Crowley.

He's kind of torn here; on the one hand, he's seen what's happening in town, and he's pretty goddamn genre-savvy. He knows damn well what being bitten by a zombie means, and his first instinct is to get the hell away from the other demon before shit really starts going south. But on the other hand...it's his fault Crowley got bitten to begin with. It'd be him going zombified if Crowley hadn't stopped...

So what does he do? It doesn't feel right to just fucking abandon him, in light of that...]

...hey. You know that this zombie shit spreads, right? [If his voice is a bit uneven, it's just because he's out of breath. Right.]

[Oh, he is familiar with zombie lore. And he's none too pleased. But he drives them back to his own house and parks in the garage. Despite the door having been open, there are no zombies inside and he leaps out of the car to shut the garage door.]

As I recall, I have a couple hours before I turn. Plenty of time for you to secure yourself in the spare bedroom.

[Lyn slides out of the car, still watching Crowley. His expression is a strange mix of wariness and guilty discomfort.] I...guess there's nothing we can do about it, hunh? [Then, after a pause - ] Y'know, it'd make a hell of a lot more sense to lock you up.

Not gonna happen, mate. Look, once I turn, I'm going to leave this house. I won't come back until after I'm fixed.

Why would you leave when you've got a victim locked in a larder right on hand? [Lyn is still on edge, and it shows.] Even if you do, though, then what am I supposed to do? I can't just stick around here until Mayfield finally gets sick of this newest shit they're pulling.

There's plenty of food in the kitchen. You should be alright even if both Kyon and April are here with you. And April is a tough bird, alright?

I don't even know who those people are. Besides, what happens if they get infected? Or the zombies get in here? [Lyn is shifting his weight from foot to foot, obviously uneasy.] I'd rather be on the fucking move than trapped someplace.

You're in more danger on the move, kid. I can't stop you, but I'm certain my house will be safe.

Actually...

[There is the very obvious sound of a gun being cocked.]

There is.

[The zombie demon turns to spot Grimsley. He frowns and steps a bit further away. Not to get away from the gun, but to keep himself from lunging at him. He folds his arms over his chest.]

What are you doing here?

Getting as far away from town as I can.

And you?

[Though his tone is light, he keeps the gun well trained.]

Just wandering. I haven't explored as much of the town as I'd like to. And there might be people in need of assistance.

...

I thought demons would be better liars, Crowley. ...Look at your flesh.

.....

I'm not lying. Yes, I'm quite aware I've joined the legion of the undead, or what have you. But I am indeed exploring the town further and assisting people.

And has the definition of 'assisting' changed to include 'relieving them of their unnecessary body parts'?

I'm not looking to help the living.

The dead can't be helped. You should know that best of all.

I can help them be deader than they already are if that's what they want.

...Would that be, perhaps, what you'd want?

I've already died twice. I don't want to do it again if I can help it.

I'm afraid that's the only cure for your condition. In its advanced stages, you see, we wouldn't be having this conversation at all.

I'm waiting for Mayfield to go back to normal.

Since you're... dead, I believe you'd simply be dead in a more conventional manner if the town was restored.

[He'll lower the gun slightly.]

But if that's what you wish...

At least until morning. Has no one told you how short lived and impermanent death is here?

Of course. But you're not willing to take the shortcut now?

I don't want to be someone else's lunch again.

They're interested in live flesh, I believe. No one likes chilled pork, after all.

[Grimsley will pocket the gun and bow with a flourish.]

Good luck, then. If I have to shoot you the next time we run into each other, I apologize in advance.

Steer clear of me in the morning time and I think you'll be alright.

I'll have to see whether or not you really do say 'brains'; I haven't heard that one yet, disappointingly.

[And not without some degree of caution, Grimsley sidesteps the zombie-demon and begins to walk away.]

[He turns and heads in the opposite direction, happy to put a good distance between them.]

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Drink Count: 9 | Things have been OK for me except that I'm a zombie now

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