Z O M B I E ♔ AU

[tinkertank]

“Every Day, the world is Ending for Someone.”


☦ ☦ ☦ Pick A Muse
☦ ☦ ☦ Pick A Situation:

1. Fleeing or Hiding: You're surrounded, and things look grim. Now might be the time for deep, meaningful metaphors and that confession you've always wanted to make.
2. All-Out Ranbo: You have your gun, your sword, your golf club, and your iPod. Time to go take on the undead hoards.
3. Daily Survival: Whether you're set up in an abandoned hospital, an old school, or a derelict apartment building, it's just life as usual: eating tuna from the can and trying to communicate via radio while firing mini-marshmallows out the window at zombies.
4. C-c-changes: One of you got bitten. Well, this is awkward...
5. Cast Curaga!!!: Okay, but seriously, I think if we cross Nyquil and Green Tea, we'll have the cure! Time to work out the biggest medical miracle in history.
6. Choose Your Own Adventure: Or anything else you can think of!

☦ ☦ ☦ Leave a Prompt or A Post
☦ ☦ ☦ Good Luck!

Comments

3. Luke. PJO Au.

[ospreyed]

3! Jehan!

[daringwaistcoat]

[kleptes]

"No offense, sis, but while lung cancer is no longer the number one killer of smokers across the united states, I don't think the smell is going to keep those suckers out."

Luke mentioned, waving a in front of his face as he padded into the room, the semi-permanent frown that had made away with more of the rest of his facial expressions flickering momentarily into a grim smirk, before fading just as fast. The cigarettes they'd found last group scavenge had been less of a blessing, more of a curse; but he'd allowed it, seeing as they'd lost someone on the raid.

Their last someone.

Now, it was just them. Two Hermes' Specials and a gas lamp, in a penthouse suite that probably meant something to someone, once upon a time.

[laughingandlyric]

Leveling his eye at exactly base with the table, Jehan bit his lip.

Then, very slowly, reached forward, fingers poised, and flicked the little wad of paper directly at Bahorel's head. Gaze flicking up, he smiled delightedly when it met its mark, beaning him right in the nose!

"I'm getting better at that." Declared, with pride. It had become something of a hobby, ever since Bahorel had insisted that they shack up in a diner of all places; something about meat cleaves and pie, Jehan hadn't been entirely paying attention, seeing as they'd been wind sprinting at the time (and he had never been an especially wonderful wind-sprinter); and Jehan had discovered a nearly endless supply of straws, still wrapped in their neat white paper.

The paper could be peeled, and turned into a ball, and the ball aimed at his best friend's head, as a form of sport.

Who knew sports could actually be fun?

[ospreyed]

"Fuck off," was the quick response from Eponine. She was sitting on the dusty couch, the cigarette dangling from between her fingers. The cherry didn't provide any extra light to the room, the storm raging outside.

It was just the two of them, here. Them, whatever they could find (which, to be fair, being Hermes kids, made it a whole lot easier), and this penthouse.

It was true. Once upon a time, it meant something to someone. Once upon a time, it would have been something Eponine dreamed of living in. Now, she was here, looking out on the abandoned New York City. Gods. This was miserable.

Pressing her lips together, she looked down at the cigarette, then closed her eyes against the sound of the rain. Emotions didn't do anyone any good right now. Not anymore.

[daringwaistcoat]

Hey, shaking up in the diner had been practical. There was a decent supply of precooked food, even if the electricity had died before they'd gotten there, and they'd needed to get rid of the ice cream right away. Bahorel had never been as sick in his life as the day that decision had been made, but it had been so worth it. like an answer to all of five year old Bahorel's dreams or something.

At the moment, though? He had been snorting, watching Jehan set up, and probably being distracting. It wasn't cheating exactly, if he hoped to circumvent Jehan's goal, it was using his skills to protect himself. Or something he would argue if he could.

But then, the paperwad hit, directly in the center of his nose and that changed everything.

Falling out of his side of the booth he'd been sprawled across, Bahorel launched himself toward Jehan's legs under the table, groaning theatrically as he did that. Hey, it wasn't like anything was going to find them while he did that, right? And it didn't look like any of the deaths he'd come across since this whole thing started so, you know.

"Death...by...Paper." He croaked, rather dramatically. "Avenge me!"

[kleptes]

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Offered, as he took the chair across from her, kicked up his legs and reclined in the leather. Just as if this were a real home, and he was completely comfortable in the half-light, with tobacco clinging to the air and his clothes and his throat, and enough dirt under his nails to make a footballer jealous.

Totally Normal.

The offer was made, despite the fact that there wasn't much to talk about, here. With all this.

But, Ep's was pissy, and Luke felt mildly responsible. That, and it was better than listening to the rain come down in pelts, barely drowning out the groans outside. One big, collective mess.

[ospreyed]

Luke had to have known the answer before he even asked.

"No," she said, not bothering to look at him, just watching the rain pour down. With any luck, it would take out some of the zombies. New York was surprisingly deserted, and the winter had been hard on all of them. Zombies froze, and in the freezing cold, they'd made use of it, running around, stabbing them in the forehead, eliminating the problem before it reemerged.

"What's the point?" It had been Connor. One of their brothers, who had been the last to fall. Eponine had been the one to take him out, before any more damage could have been caused. His blood still remained on her dirty clothing.

[laughingandlyric]

Totally cheating. Luckily, Jehan had eye-of-the-tiger focus: a skill which came from years of being an only child (his whole life, really) and of paying no mind to any number of things, from what time it was (perfect to ignore on long walks when you had a curfew), to certain opinions (ultraconservative politics came to mind...), to even reality sometimes (wonderful to suspend when you were daydreaming). Bahorel was somehow a much more compact concept than reality, and so, he went ignored!

That is, until he'd become fatally wounded in the Battle for The Left Booth.

With a wild giggle tearing from his throat, which he managed to quiet by butting both hands to his mouth, Jehan let his eyes crinkle and gave a silent laugh at his friend's prostration, shaking his head. When he'd overcome surprise and humor enough to actually speak, he let his hands fall away, promising,

"Oh, noble Bahorel, who art fallen in cold blood before thine very eye: what have I done?" With a disappointed purse of lips. "Paper cuts are truly a horrible, horrible way to go. And it is I who condemned you~ Alas. I will have to finish myself off also in order to avenge you." Nothing like a melodramatic double-death to end a story properly? "But- I'll do it after dinner. There's a whole thing of juice boxes in the back, and it'd be a worse tragedy to waste them."

[daringwaistcoat]

It was only cheating if you got CAUGHT, Duh. Bahorel was usually pretty good at not getting caught. It was a skill he'd honed back in high school, back in the days those had existed, and when he'd actually bothered going to class. He hadn't picked up much else in there, but the ability to look like he wasn't causing trouble had come in handy sometimes.

...well, for about the first week of every semester anyway. It had also worked wonders at some of his more boring jobs. Of course, given everything around them? There WERE those days he'd have preferred that lifestyle over this one.

Today, however? It was SO not that day. Groaning out his own death knell, he rolled promptly under the booth and then the death knell changed to another exclamation.

"Okay, GROSS. What IS it with gum that it sticks around forever?" He wondered, still laughing as he edged his way out, just bumping his forehead on the table when he stood up. "I meant to do that." He declared, giving Jehan one of his bright grins.

"A whole thing of them? Oh that's definitely worth sticking around for, cruel as the world is."

It was easier to deal with the outside realities if he turned it into exageration, so, Bahorel was pleased to do that. Every little bit helped, right?

throwback... sunday!! yamamoto, 3 (or 2?), let me know if you'd rather not/I start!

[59]

[laughingandlyric]

"Gum is the original Undying." Jehan pronounced, in what he meant to be a jest- but it was punctuated by a despondent sigh, at the thought of the actual undead shuffling the streets outside.

He nonetheless shot Bahorel a brief and authentic enough smile at his joke with the table, nodding to show he believed him. His mind, however, was elsewhere.

They'd been split up from other friends... how long ago was it now? Days were difficult to keep track of anymore. The anxious worry for friends and family alike had spread into a dull, ever-present sort of ache, gloomy.

Frankly, he was lucky to have been stranded with the most cheerful of the lot, and someone as intensely capable as this particularly dear friend. It kept his spirits up, somehow.

Coming out of his own mind, he sat up a little, and gave another small, slightly oblivious smile; attempting to regain the topic.

"Mmn? Oh. Yes! Yes. But the cranberry is all mine; I've called dibs. The grapefruit juice is yours though..." Because... bleh, gross. "I won't fight you for those."

[daringwaistcoat]

"The original undying?" Bahorel asked him, perching on the end of the booth to nod at Jehan to go on a bit. "In a way, I guess it does undergo a sort of death when chewed, or you know, some sort of metamorphosis. Digestive juices WOULD have killed everything else ages ago. But it is really undead or is it some sort of super strain of survivor?"

Cause if it was, Bahorel would take tips on that. Sure, so far they had been okay, and he was pretty relieved to have Jehan with him right now, out of anybody else it could have been. It WOULD have been better if they'd managed to meet up with their other friends, but he was pretty sure they were still out there and they'd find a way to hook up with them someday. He'd been poking around with his phone, looking for any lone satelites to get a signal from, but...nothing yet. The key was to keep trying but sometimes he wanted to just throw the thing against the wall and smash it. Thus far, he had refrained, but...who knew what tomorrow was going to bring?

At least, right now, they were alive, and dry, and comfortable, and not really suffering any ill effects after the last bout of decapitations to protect their turf. So that was something.

"Grapefruit, hmm? Exciting. It'll ward off that bout of scurvy I was pretty afraid of." He joked, flashing Jehan his own grin, "Much as I retreat to pirate fantasies and all, that'd get old pretty fast. I guess it'd have a decent trade off, but I'm not too sure I'd attract wenches if I lost any more teeth."

[laughingandlyric]

Nose wrinkling and brow furrowing, "I don't know how I feel about gum being the original super soldier... but that would be like Americans, to invent a food-group that's both totally artificial, and comparable to a superhero." With a gentle roll of eyes. "And quite like Americans to pretend they invented the concept at all, when the Greeks were chewing resin gum back before America was even a glimmer in the eyes of the future." With a hmph, because the notion of American invention and creativity was something of a sore spot. Even in the apocalypse, he was French, after all.

For the moment though, Jehan felt comfortable. Even if they were separated from those most important friends, their families even, and with the certainty that they were surrounded on every city street by nightmarish dangers, at least here, in the dim-lit diner with the barred doors and the boarded up windows, for just a moment, there was peace, and humor, and safety.

Sitting in and of itself felt like a tremendous luxury, though the longer they stayed here and got used to making rounds, the more 'normal' it all felt.

Giving a short, breathy laugh, he shook his head. "I thought you were killed by paper? Dying and then getting scurvy would be quite a feat. And, ehem-" Lifting a brow at him. "Are you planning to 'attract wenches' tonight? Because I can wait outside, but I'll have you know, I'm using the crockery as body armour."

[kleptes]

"What's the point of sitting here brooding?" Shot back, lifting brows at her and crossing his legs, conforming to a more laid back pose.

What was the point of anything, anymore?

The Titans were supposed to unleash something worse than Hades on earth, then rebuild. Even they couldn't have seen this coming. The greater of two evils.

Maybe both?! Aw yeaaaah. Sorry if I'm way rusty!!

[combiplay]

Takeshi stuck his tongue into the side of his mouth, causing his cheek to puff out on one side. Then, slowly, let out something between a long, low breath of air and a long, meaningless sound: ahhhhhn....

Annnd... there! Haha!

Fixing up his weapons took a sort of intense focus, these days. Even a good sword's blade got dulled, rusted away, or chipped without constant maintenance. Sharpening it with rocks was pretty weird in a way, haha! Unprofessional, or something. Like buffing a baseball bat up, instead of of powdering it for better traction. But, like he'd almost said: Aaan, you take what you can get!

Since he and Gokudera were gearing up to do a lookout round, he'd rather a blade that could cut than a blade with a perfect yakiba and ha. Haha... he hoped his old man forgave him for that, wherever he was.

"Okay! All ready." Called, shooting his friend an out-of-place grin, his other hand occupied by keeping the hilt of his katana upright.

[daringwaistcoat]

"They WOULD be excited about that, wouldn't they?" Bahorel shook his head sadly, his opinions of Americans expressed in that single gesture. "They do take claim for just about anything you can think of. It's slightly depressing how many people believe them, really."

He'd dated an American once, but it hadn't really worked. Mostly because she was probably certifiably insane, but he preferred using the American label as the reason they hadn't gotten past a fourth date. It was faster, and encompassed so many issues.

It was good to be here with Jehan, where at least things were comfortable. Bahorel probably wouldn't sleep tonight, unless they were doing it in shifts, to make sure nothing went wrong, but it was incredibly good to HAVE a booth to claim as a bed, and access to things like a supply of water, food, even though it was freezer burnt, AND some natural weapons in the kitchen area. He'd claimed a few of the knives first off, but had to admit that the frying pans, while reminiscent of both disney films and Indiana Jones, would deliver a solid blow if it was needed.

So far, so good, and being able to smile, to laugh again when Bahorel hadn't thought that it was ever going to be appropriate again, was one of those really great perks.

"Ah yes, Paper covers rock and rock fails to develop bleeding gums and all the rest. You know, I ought to thank you for sparing me that fate, at least until I rise again and find a way to walk on water."

Blasphemy HAD always come dangerously easy to him, after all.

"You know, I haven't seen any around to ask. Which IS kind of a shame, but I guess your company'll do."

[laughingandlyric]

"Well, when the Internet came, they had a way of making everyone see their nonsense all at once. This is why real, physical books are what should be trusted, above all." The other silver lining to the end of the world, to a modern day renaissance man: not much effort put into keeping the wifi afloat anymore.

Jehan had heard stories about that American. He almost found it a little funny (but only a little) that there was a human on earth who Bahorel couldn't quite handle, and found exhausting.

As sensible as sleeping in shifts was, Jehan almost always insisted against it. 'Sensible' was rarely his top priority, and he felt that if they were going to die, they ought to do it both awake, or both asleep; together. If they really wouldn't be woken up by undead bodies clawing apart the storm boards, then perhaps they did not stand much of a fighting chance, anyway. Besides... he did not prefer to be lonely. Alone? Sure. But there was a vast lonesomeness to sitting up at night, curled up with knees to chin, trying to stay awake, knowing you were surrounded by things, and yet no one was there. No one was 'awake.'

Too unnatural. That, more than the thought of death or turning, creeped him out totally.

With a small smile, though: "Just be careful with the scissors when you find them in your equation, okay, Great Messiah? You always do find your way to the pointy objects. Eventually."

And pulling a face thereafter, "Did you just compare me unfavourably to wenches? I'm very offended. Wenches you'd have to pay. I put up with you for free." Joked (mostly.)

[daringwaistcoat]

"There's something about anonymity and expressing idiotic opinions, isn't there? Personally if you don't have the balls to stand by what you say, then you probably shouldn't be online. Shouldn't have BEEN." Bahorel corrected. "I mean, if you're going to be offensive, have the courtesy of doing it in person so whoever you're offending has a chance to punch you. If you can't really defend your position then you're probably wron anyway."

It had been so much fun at first. So refreshing. But then things had gotten worse and...Bahorel should never be allowed to date someone so much like himself. Someone who APPRECIATED and cheered him on was one thing, but an actual copy of himself? Bad idea.

Shifts were the ideal way to go, but Bahorel did have to admit that they were better when he was the one awake and managed to get close enough to Jehan so that he could touch him. Sitting there in the dark like that, you needed someone else's warmth, and breath, and solid form to keep you from going insane or imagining you were the only one left. With Jehan, at least, there were two of them, and that was always better. Generally, he preferred laughing in the face of fear, but the support of friends made that all so much easier.

Death was nothing that he was afraid of really. Bahorel had been in so many situations where he could have died before the world had gone to hell, and if it hadn't taken him yet, it probably wouldn't now. If it eventually did, well, he'd have earned a good one anyway.

Turning though...becoming something he couldn't control? Now THAT was a real problem. Bahorel had always prided himself on knowing his own strength and how to use it, when to hold back, and how to use his judgement to tell the difference. If he lost that ability and someone got hurt? That was the scariest thing in all of this. Better to focus on other, much more cheerful things.

"I think I might have broken the scissors a long time ago." He mused. "It's pretty easy to do that. They might need a little help at this point. Or just a new pair of them. Either way, the blades would make a really nice knife in a pinch. It might be a little dull, but hey, those hurt more, right?"

And then, a smirk. "It depends on the wench, I guess. I'm sorry for your feelings, and you're good to put up with me for free, but there are a few who I might have to turn you out for. For a while." That was also a joke, and he clearly winked, hoping that Jehan caught the hint. "But on the other hand, I'd rather LIVE with you."

[laughingandlyric]

"Well, while I don't generally agree with punching people in the face; even the most ignorant of people; I think that's well said." Reaching out, and giving the straw itself a gentle flick, watching it roll as he relocated his chin to his palm, elbow to table. "There's a sort of extreme and terrible cowardice to saying something cruel while wearing a mask. If you have an opinion, you should be brave enough to stand up for it wholeheartedly." That was something he'd always liked and appreciated about Bahorel. He was often ridiculous; but he was unashamedly ridiculous, right out loud, with a grin about it.

They had that sort of ridiculous honesty in common with one another... though Jehan wasn't always so open or proud about it.

As for turning...? He wondered about that sometimes, he really did. It was a gruesome thought, but at least (in a morbid way...) then he'd know intimately the pain humanity had gone through. He'd understand by feeling, in a way that just looking couldn't accomplish, what some of his friends had experienced. For a moment, before his mind was gone, he'd have that perfect empathy, and could grieve what had happened properly.

A little bit too romantic of a notion for Bahorel's tastes, probably. He thought, at some point, they should discuss what should happen if one of them was bitten; the answer seemed obvious, but frankly, Jehan didn't think he could do it, if it came down to it; but maybe not just yet. When the conversation was pleasant, for once. He owed his friend that.

"You would take that literally. I sometimes wonder if there's any object you couldn't turn into a weapon..." A beat. "Actually, I'm going to think about it really hard and make a list. Waffles. I bet you couldn't defend yourself with a waffle." Challenged, seriously, before rolling his eyes again. He knew it was a joke, of course! But- "If you turn me out, I'm leaving, that's it. I knew I should have tried to find Enjolras first." Now there was someone who certainly wouldn't abandon a friend for wenches! "I quit being your best friend; instead, while you pine for wenches, I will sit here and pine for the friendship Enjolras, who is so impressive, that I bet he could defend himself with a waffle."

peter - so tempted to say 4

[nextdoors]

[so i'm saying four x( maybe mix in some 5]

[peterparker]

[Yesss let's 4.5!

Any preference to who gets bitten, bb?

Though let's be real, with Peter's luck with women, it's probably MJ...

But I am unhappily the happiest either way! :D]

[nextdoors]

[LOL NOW IT HAS TO BE MJ

get that big brain working peter ;)]

[peterparker]

"Oh God, okay, uh..."

Peter had both hands over MJ's arm, where she'd been bitten, trying to stop the blood flow first of all. Or was he supposed to bleed it out, actually, if the infection was intravenous-? He wasn't sure, and Band-Aid Brand commercials and Animal Planet's 'Rattlesnake Republic' had differing views on the matter. Since those two sources made up just about the extent of his medical knowledge (that one episode of 'General Hospital' with Aunt May aside... he didn't think cryogenic freeze tanks were a viable option here), Peter opted for the one that seemed a little saner, a little closer to what he wanted to do here.

Hang on.

Holding onto that arm, pale, sweating, trying not to panic. But how could he not panic? This was his girlfriend. This was MJ. And in about an hour? This was going to be a zombie.

Staring up at her, breathing a little uneven, but eyes set, determined, almost outright gleaming with pure effort to keep it together, to have a ready solution, to help, to fix it... he took a deep breath, and nodded. Speaking as much for her sake as for his own:

"Yeah. Okay. Okay, this is nothing. This is no big deal. You're gonna be fine. We'll get this cleaned up, and uh- uh." All right, Parker. Think. "...OSCORP." Decided suddenly, slipping out of his nervous energy just long enough to get something useful lodged into his brain. "OSCORP's bio labs. They've been testing cures for months, and we just- we just gotta get you there, and I'm sure there'll be something, and it'll. It'll work."

Because it had to.

He wasn't losing someone else. Not her. Not today.

[nextdoors]

It's no big deal-- oh Peter. You big dumb idiot. She wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry or do both really, because he might not be facing it but Mary Jane considered herself a realist. She's not blind or stupid. Maybe she didn't get the medical side of it or how the virus mutates and what it does on the cellular level to people but she'd seen it enough to know.

It's not like she got bit by a dog. People die from this. No, that's an understatement. People turn into monsters. People stop being people, she's not going to be his girlfriend in an hour or so, she was going to come after him too. Kill him or turn him and it's Peter. She hates the idea of doing that to Peter, loathes it, it makes her skin crawl more than the idea that she's going to die rather soon. Maybe because it doesn't seem real, can't be real, that's not her arm she's staring at, it has to be someone else. And she's pretty sure he won't kill her even after she turns.

Not after what happened to Gwen. And just because he's Peter.

Turned out that MJ settled on crying first, unable to stop the tears once they start. Peter had one arm pretty tight, it hurt like hell by the way and she wasn't sure if that was all in her head or if being bit by a zombie really does hurt but she's bleeding so it had to be pretty deep, right? But anyway, MJ wiped at her eyes with her free arm, and god help her-- she can't look at him.

She just can't. Stop it, Peter, stop making it worse than it already is. If she looked at him, sees how freaked out he was and how he was holding it together for her, yeah. She'd definitely start sobbing if that happens.

"I am not going to be fine. If OSCORP had a cure... why haven't they shared it yet? Huh? You need to get away from me before I--"

Before I kill you.

[daringwaistcoat]

"Precisely. If the opinion is important to you, then you had damned well better stand by it, both in information to back it up, and in terms of owning what you say." Bahorel was quite firm when it came to that point, and did not see that changing anytime soon. "Otherwise, what good is your argument if you just leave it, and run, without waiting around to defend or explain your points."

It was one of those things Bahorel had picked up long ago, in that brief period he'd studied law. Extremely brief and lasting for just under two months, and it had been Hell. Even given everything that had gone on since then? Bahorel would still take right now and the possibility of death, or turning, over becoming or having much contact with, a lawyer.

As far as turning went, Jehan was not the only one who wondered, really. For Bahorel, the question was a matter of how long one's mind remained in that state, if he might still be present somewhere after that, and forced to watch from the inside as he destroyed mindlessly. The entire thing was terrible to think about, because damned if Bahorel would ever let someone or something else destroy him so thoroughly. His own version of chaos was much more well reasoned and disciplined than anyone would think to look at him, and losing that...he didn't like it.

Naturally, it was easier to joke about such possibilities than to face them out in the open. Someday, and soon, they WOULD have to visit it, but playing things by ear seemed to fit just fine right now. Jehan's switch of topics was a welcome one, and Bahorel weighed the possibility, considering.

"Waffles. I think those could be easily used, you know , should your target be close enough for choking, or if they were laced with some sort of poison. Admittedly, they'd make a better trap with enough sticky syrup to hold someone in place. Or even just give them pause. And Enjolras doubtlessly is as skilled in this as everything else. Chances are, he's organized a utopia somewhere.

Exaggerated a bit, perhaps, but Bahorel could hope the best case scenario had happened in everyone's case and go with that as a theory.

"You don't have to pine so much, you know. When the wenches are gone, and I'm lonely again, there ought to be an opening. It sort of depends."

[laughingandlyric]

Jehan merely nodded his agreement- it was all very true. Unfortunately, many men were cowards, and cowards tended to have both the loudest opinions and the fastest shortcuts to run away from conversation and debate.

...Jehan still didn't think punching them in the face was the best solution, though. That threat might explain why they were always running away!

Shifting in the booth to get more comfortable, shrugging deeper into his hoodie and leaning slightly sideways, so that he was in more of a pile than any discernable sitting stance, Jehan breathed a sigh out through his front teeth, and elbowed his friend softly.

"Poison... I'll give you poison. But then you'd have to make the waffle- and be a member of an ancient or Victorian society." Because, who did that anymore? Poison was very old-school evil, and while he respected the nod to the past hugely, Bahorel sullied the very legacy of arsenic and cyanide by suggesting someone lace it into waffle batter rather than a princely cup of wine. Honestly. "I don't think the Romans were a waffle-eating people. Can you imagine? Everyone throwing Eggo's at Cesar- Et tu, Brute?"

He did smile though, at the idea of Enjolras in some utopia, where breakfast foods did not have to be wielded as weaponry. "He'd be unsatisfied with utopia, I think; he'd try to improve it."

Biting his lip thereafter, pulling his knees up a little, he tried not to laugh. It would ruin the effect of looking very glum and put out, after all.

"Nope, no, uh-uhn. Too late. I've already moved on. Your openings don't interest me. I'm going to sit here, all night, and pine for Enjolras in his waffle utopia. You can't stop me. You can even go to sleep if you want- I won't notice. I have been jilted for fictional women, and I admit, fictional dalliances really are the best kind; there's no contest. You have good taste in betraying your friends, at least." Lips pursed, the light dramatics entirely in jest.

[daringwaistcoat]

"It does venture beyond the classical form, I'll grant you." Bahorel allowed, with a little wave of the hand. "But innovation and all of that. It's supposed to be a big deal, right? I'm simply...reinventing the form to fit the choice of weapon there in front of me."

He could make waffles if he wanted to, he was pretty sure. He hadn't actually tried, because, come on, the aforementioned eggos were so easy, but he managed not to fuck up pancakes, so that was something. Well, at least after the first time he'd actually attempted it and gotten a little out of control with the flipping motion. His ceiling at home had paid for that one for a while.

"There's a mental image." He couldn't help laughing at the thought. "Waffles of death at some production of it or another though. It'd be a little, what's that called, theatre of the absurd? Sort of a cross between that and Rocky Horror with all the participation that goes with it. It's like a brand new way to get students involved in their education."

Or, it would have been, in a time when education was actually a problem people were concerned about. But, considering how unreal everything had been before society as they knew it had ended, pretending that things were, and could be normal, even boring, and planning ways to fix the latter problem was actually pretty comforting.

"Improving Utopia. That WOULD be Enjolras. Somehow I don't think he'd stop before he'd ferreted out whatever corrupt underbelly the utopia really had. It wouldn't be utopia if he didn't have something to rail against, probably involving syrup production if he's in a land of perfect waffles, right?"

He shifted his expression to a pleading one that made him look, well, a lot like a kicked puppy, which had been known to work on several people when he put his all into it.

"What would happen if I arranged that the fictional women bring along their friends, just to keep you company? Because I'm such a good friend, I'm willing to share the wealth. Does that change your opinion of my evening at all? Or should I add the fact I tracked down SOMETHING in a can that's possibly still edible, if unidentifiable?"

With that, he walked over to his coat, and tugged a can of...something that was dented beyond belief, without a label, but definitely not leaking so far. "That just reminded me I found this."

Looted,actually, from the abandoned mini-mart not too far down the road, but who was counting?

[laughingandlyric]

"That's like saying La Mort de Sardanapale can be redrawn in crayon, to fit your nineties-themed bedroom motif." Jehan complained lightly in return. He was far so from pretentious as to make his own father cringe over dinner conversation often enough, but on the point of romantic themes: the cult of sensibility, the art of Eugène Delacroix, Haydn's flowing musical notes, natural philosophies of Johann Gottlieb Fichte, and yes: strychnine, he could not be moved. They should be as pure and natural as the movement itself.

Strychnine, made more potent by the studies of Joseph Bienaimé Caventou and Pierre-Joseph Pelletier in 1818, used to poison the wine of Alexander the Great in a large dose, and taken as an agent of suicide when mixed with water and hot rum in the middle 1800's, deserved to be baked into bread and served with brandy and taken by writers in the throughs of empathy and depression for the fate of the human race.

...Not thrown into a waffle maker to play Breakfast Roulette.

"You at Rocky Horror is also quite a mental image." Added, with more of a smile now though. It was a pity they hadn't had the chance to go together, because there was a theatre of the absurd that Bahorel would have shined in. A people's theater. Then, before he could remind himself to remain glum and moody fast enough, he snorted a little, shoulders curling in while he laughed. "'The sticky underbelly of waffle utopia.' Enjolras is dauntless, for sure. If the syrup goes bad, he'll find out about it. 'Something rotten in the state of dough-mark."

Looking backwards at him now, slightly upside-down as Bahorel moved to get his coat, he blinked and tilted his head. (All right... so it was difficult to stare at him, while he was making those puppy-eyes.)

"It depends on which work of fiction." He'd love to meet Helen of Troy, or Neith. He was less keen on meeting Dolores Umbridge for coffee while Bahorel flirted with Fleur Delacour. Talk about poisoned waffles...

Still his interest perked (as did his posture) when Bahorel pulled out a mystery can.

"...And you have no idea what it is?"

[daringwaistcoat]

"It probably could." Bahorel mused, thinking about it now. "It's just some sort of...new adaptation of the form. I doubt that it'd be tasteful, really, but what's art meant to be if it's not messy, if it doesn't challenge everything you thought you knew, right? As much as my art skills wouldn't go beyond macabre crayon scrawling, I think it would be just enough to question what we thought we knew, and to be bright and bold and garishly terrifying. It's terror that makes you ask all the good questions, right? Even if it's terror of...what the hell's that school of thought, deconstruction?"

Terror had made Bahorel think of a few of those now that he'd been living in it day to day. These days, it was all pretty thankfully boring, but when they'd been on their way to to find the hideout here, he'd had to ask himself a lot of things he was more comfortable ignoring, and he'd still come out all right, somehow.

"No, give me adaptation, give me change and challenges, and ways to get around and past the things we only think we know."

At least as long as any change directed at their current mode of living was a better one. Strychnine, or not, the classics always stood to be debated, to be questioned, and he'd horrified a lot of people in his day when he'd applied that concept toward transportation, cocktails, and most major religions to name a couple of the things on his long list.

Bring him giants, bring him windmills, bring him anything at all he could attack and debate until he was left with pieces ready to be reassembled. Strychnine laced waffles were a form of that that still gave enough nod to Jehan's original. They were all bread in their own way, weren't they? No worse than Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, ironic as that example seemed just now. They should have figured shit was coming then.

Breakfast Roulette could actually be sort of fun, you know. Lace a couple foods with various substances, ranging from the delicious, to the nasty, to the deadly. It would work pretty well for parties when the specifics were outlined. He'd table that idea for now, but it was one worth revisiting when the mood struck.

"I'll have you know, I was amazing in my corset. Simply stunning if the number of people who passed out can be trusted anyway." Sure, Bahorel. Just keep thinking that way. It was probably better for Jehan that he hadn't been exposed to that particular abuse of fashion of the past. He couldn't help but nod, snorting at the breakfast assessment. "Everyone could rest safely with that, you know, Enjolras on the case. No angle left unturned, no packet of yeast unexamined."

It was incredibly endearing when Jehan did that, and it made Bahorel want to hug him, sort of, pat his hair and drag him somewhere things were still a little crazy, but also at least safe enough he wouldn't need to worry. He still had the thought often, even knowing that Jehan could, and had, taken care of himself, and both of them on occasion. Some instincts you couldn't shake, that was all.

"Which work of fiction IS a really good question. I'd suggest Eowyn, maybe, and Galadriel for you? Bonus points if she brings the mirror along, or...I don't know, really, every really great option only has the one example. I'll even bypass Cleopatra for you until we come up with a fairer option. Something tells me she wouldn't be a fan of being shared."

He glanced at the dented can again, sniffed it for any clues, then shook his head. "All I know is that it's can A3GK66. And only hit the out of use date last week. It's probably still fine, as long as it's not something like creamed broccoli."

A disaster they didn't need to happen, that.

[laughingandlyric]

"But maybe you're totally missing the point?" Posed, absolutely as a question, rather than a statement of fact. Bahorel had set him off thinking, what with that well-rounded argument.

Now that he had the booth entirely to himself, Jehan turned full around, to lay on his stomach, bend his knees up at the legs and prop his head up on one hand, elbow to the booth. Much easier, to talk to him from this angle, rather than upside-down. "Adaptation, and change... often good things, yes, but just as often bad, too. Romanticism was about the natural, the very basics. About life and death, about equality, about the passion and truth of feelings, almost more reliable than thinking. How can that forced to change? Those are the basics of being a human. 'Garishly terrifying'... there was a lot of that, back then. The change it took-" He nodded towards the boarded up window, towards outside, towards them, "-wasn't for the better, and is as much an unnatural copy of humanity as a crayon La Mort de Sardanapale would be only a parody of art. Now, on the other hand, if you looked at the painting, and you were struck by a feeling, and that feeling made you create your own art- even stick figures in Macaroni Orange- then, okay. Then, you're right. Then it's real art."

With a little bit of a wistful sigh, leaning his cheek further into the crook of his hand. "Then you are doing, rather than undoing, or worse. Copying."

Well, while he didn't usually talk quite so much, Bahorel had always been subject to his rants on matters that were important to him, more than anyone else. He was always more willing to listen, and better than that, more willing to debate and to provocate and to dispute.

In Jehan's opinion, for all his rough edges, Bahorel might be the smartest all-around person he knew. A true scholar was willing to operate on the theory that everything they knew was wrong. And no one liked to smash through walls more than Bahorel; even if they were academic walls. Even some literal academic walls... but Jehan knew better than to bring up his University days.

"I hope you had your smelling salts with you." Smiled, warmly, listening to him brag and watching while he inspected the can with a kind of easygoing affection. It was weird, how everything in the world could be wrong and still his friend found a way to make moments seem cheerful, and safe, and normal.

Putting out his other hand for the can once he'd read off the numbers, brows raised a little, he continued, "My friend, I would never share a woman with you. Relationships aren't made for three, or meant for sharing. Plus, Eowyn is out of your league and Galadriel is too royalist for me." And also out of his league, fairly. "Besides; I would only accept being thrown out for someone you fell in love with." Because, honestly, Bahorel. You should only sleep with people you love. Duh.

"Ugh... if it's creamed broccoli, I'll leave of my own accord." Cringed. "Do you have something to open it with?"

[daringwaistcoat]

"I guess I COULD be missing it." Bahorel agreed, almost proudly. "I've been told by a lot of people that I have a way of, what was it that TA told me, diverting almost any conversation or lecture." Usually to far more interesting subjects, at that. "It's a gift that keeps on giving."

That WAS better for Bahorel too. Jehan upside down just made things odd, in the way of eye contact and all. He was never really sure how to make it when his best friend was flopping around like some kind of nocturnal animal. A bat of some sort, maybe? Which led to images of Jehan as Batboy of all things. If he managed to get near a computer again, at any point in time, he was definitely editing that. For now, he just studied Jehan as he spoke, kind of impressed at all the information and how it spilled out just like that.

"It makes me wonder, you know," He said, to Jehan's points, "About what a human's basic existence is gonna be now. Somebody's unfortunate enough to have a kid born into this. I guess their starting point's a little rigged from the get-go. " Welcome to the world, kid. Hope you live til you've hit kindergarten age, not that there's any kindergarten to go to, now.

"Okay, you've got a point, the copies we're stuck with and their shuffling around like shells of who they were and all didn't make for a good change. I guess because the things that make them human, being able to experience and feel and generally just live aren't there. And sure, that copying would be about the same. Would it be lying, do you think, to slavishly copy a masterpiece in really awful parody? They way you put it, that's what it seems to be."

Their lives had become something like a bad parody too, now that he thought about it, and the whole sensation was pretty weird.

"I've kind of got the urge to track down Macaroni Orange now though. Did you ever get bummed out as a kid that they didn't make that in the smelly crayons? Then again, I tried to eat "Pet Shop" in like, preschool. It wasn't as tasty as the paste, that was for sure."

Which he said, really, to get something of a smile out of Jehan, even though it was also the truth. It was better than thinking about bad parodies anyway, and he had never liked seeing Jehan unhappy. If that meant he listened as his friend spoke, and provided points to consider as well, well, it was more than worth it, being a sounding board. No way in Hell that Bahorel could match his smarts, but hey, he'd give it his best shot.

"Smelling salts, that's what I forgot that first night." he joked. "I should have known there was a reason that I fainted into the crowd during the Time Warp." This was the sort of discussion that they might have had anywhere, before the world changed, and the thought was both kind of nice, but also pretty depressing. Some days, he thought, they tried too hard to force things back the way they'd been before. the new normal they'd settled into was maybe the worst example. The fact there was a new normal at all, really, just sort of sucked in general. At least Jehan was here though. He could rest relatively easier knowing that much anyway.

"I'm not nearly so sure they never work, but not for us at least." Bahorel supplied, grinning. "What's the fun if our mystery ladies aren't out of our league anyway? It makes the fantasy more fun. But yeah, the royalism IS a problem. So, we'll have to go with someone else...Ophelia of course. She put up with Hamlet, she could probably handle you."

As long as they were ladies he was fond of, who were fond of him in return, Bahorel would sleep with them. Friends With Benefits was an arrangement that had proven pretty ideal for him, he'd figured out. Not enough to kick Jehan out, maybe, but they could put him in the diner's bathroom for a while, right? ...Okay, so probably not.

"We're about to find out." He drawled, flicking open a knife and stabbing into the center of the lid. "Let's see, " he added, staring at the hole he'd made so far intently. "Looks like it's something red. Would it be weird to hope it's alphabet soup? It kind of smells like that."

[peterparker]

And then she was crying. Peter didn't know how to deal with crying girls. That broke his heart. Even Aunt May, in her late fifties, crying about being overworked, or missing Uncle Ben, or out of concern for why Peter's face was all banged up- or, the most recently, over what had happened to the neighbors across the street and what they'd turned into- all made Peter's insides scrunch up and twist into a coil that felt like there was no release beyond doing something. Doing something drastic, and doing it immediately... even if, usually, all he could do was give a hug. When there was no bad guy to chase, no one to blame (not even himself, on those rare occasions), then that's all that was left to him.

Hugging didn't seem like an exceptionally useful medical avenue right now. At best, it would do nothing. At worst, it would jostle that arm a little more, make them both panic deeper.

He swallowed, and jutted out a lip, jaw tight as he shook his head no. No. And he meant it.

"No, nope, nu-uh, no, not gonna happen. No way I'm leaving you. Got that?" Looking up with a flitting gaze into her eyes, his own strong even though it was filtered through by tears, Peter took a shaky breath and insisted, "I won't leave you, and there's no way- there's no way I'm losing you. No."

OSCORP might have something. Why not? They had every other genetic modifier in the universe, and Peter at least understood enough about those to raid for the right thing...

"They wouldn't share it if they couldn't produce a lot yet. But they'll have something. Some kinda test, or research, or beta strain... you gotta trust me, MJ. You gotta stick with me. Okay? We're gonna go to OSCORP and we're gonna get you fixed."

Because it was all he could do. Because it was the only option, and the only hope he could think of.

"I am not leaving you here."

[laughingandlyric]

"Gervais Bahorel: The gift that keeps on giving. Well, if they make an OKCupid with the purpose of repopulating the Earth in a decade, we'll know your catchphrase."

Granted, if he'd known that letting Bahorel near a computer in the future would lead to Batboy photo manips, he might have re-thought the importance of finding him an online life partner...

The idea of a child being born into this, though? That made Jehan's brows furrow and his spirits drop. What a terrible thing, to be a child confined to a horror story, with the backdrop of a life that was almost beautiful, once. "Humans are made to survive, I think." Quietly, a little dour. "But an existence based on only surviving... it's sad. There's no equality in a place where the best trait is how strong you can be, how fast, how violent. There's no real justice." That thought harassed him constantly. A return to the very roots of human society, decades of progression of thought lost with a generation decimated...

Mildly depressed now, he snorted softly at Bahorel's joke.

"I dipped the crayon into Macaroni once, but that was more of an accident; I was testing to see if they were really the same colour." Biting his lip again, he shook his head. "I ca't imagine you fainting... did you crush someone? Or did a valiant lady catch you and carry you to safety? And, admittedly, I did have quite a crush on Ophelia growing up... I'm not a mad Danish prince, though, so perhaps I'm not her type."

Ophelia was a good choice, nonetheless. He would almost blush, thinking about it. While he'd never, ever indulged in 'friends with benefits' (unless the 'benefit' was dating and a fully monogamous relationship), literature with benefits was a whole different story. Er, so to speak.

(And no, B. You cannot stuff Jehan in a bathroom while you mack on like-minded women. He'd doe-eye you into oblivion after for the insult to pride and person both.)

Leaning over a little to stare, he was relieved to hear it was red, and maybe a little excited, himself.

"If it's alphabet soup, we can play with our food." He agreed. So yes: that would be exciting. "Maybe pasta sauce, though?" Which would be equally thrilling, or almost as good. They had a LOT of pasta. It kept well.

[ospreyed]

"No," she said sharply, her frown deepening.

"The point of any of it. Of trying to survive. Of fighting them. They're going to win- they've survived the winter, most of fucking Manhattan has been taken- as far as we know, we're the only two living mortals in the world." She took another drag of her cigarette, turning to him now.

"I should just kill myself and get it over with."

[nextdoors]

She could probably go for a hug right about now, to be able to bury her face in Peter's shoulder and cry there. Cry because he sounded so determined and sure of himself and because nobody ever, ever looked her in the eye and told her that they weren't leaving and that he wasn't going to lose her. That it was just not an option.

Sometimes Peter told her that she kept him going, kept him strong and was like a place of peace for him and she would roll her eyes or kiss him or more often, do both. Cheesiness deserved a kiss. But what she didn't say as often was that Peter meant just as much if not more to her. Peter didn't ask her to be anything she wasn't, never just wanted her because she was pretty and thin because Mary Jane put on a mask just like he did, it just wasn't as obvious.

His determination gave her strength. Gave her enough to be able to nod, just a little, enough to agree to his plan. Even if she didn't think it was going to work and that he was chasing after nothing, but he had to give her something in return before she got to her feet.

"Promise me though. Promise that if you can't do anything... don't let me hurt you, Peter. Please."

1 as the tie-in to 3 // Yamamoto

[kasuzame]

“Go! Go, you fucking idiot, GO!!”

The boy’s protests fell on deaf ears as he cut through another one of those undead bastards, looking back over his shoulder, blindly dispatching yet another, slicing it in half through the torso.

“Shut up and fucking get out of here! You’re the only one left, you have to find the others! You might be their last fucking hope if they’re still alive!”

It was cheating, he knew, to bring up the brat’s friends, but that was the only way to get him to leave. To think twice about staying, sacrificing himself just to try and save his worthless life. Without him around to worry him, he’d be able to let loose and if he was really lucky -- often, he was -- he might just escape from this mess untainted. With a loud yell, he threw himself into the throng of once-humans, decaying limbs flying, the smell of rot on the air. He gave only a cursory glance back, a sense of relief washing over him when he saw he’d run off finally, as he’d asked.

Turning back to the lurching group still approaching, he allowed himself a toothy smirk, flipping his hair back over his shoulder.

“Time to take out the trash…”

That had been nearly a day ago, Squalo mused, as he headed toward their hideout. It had been stupid, so goddamn stupid to go out like they did. But they’d needed provisions; the abandoned ryokan had only so much left in its stores, they wouldn’t have rations to last more than a day, two at best. You would think it’d be easy to avoid a bunch of diseased, disgusting, slow beasts, but apparently they could be pretty damn sneaky when they wanted to.

Holding his prosthetic arm, the wrap having weakened after the battle -- the cloth he used to tie the sword on having gotten torn -- he trudged through the overgrown brush. The door was in sight. That little shit better have gone back and stayed there with the items they’d managed to loot.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he’d take a moment just outside the door to collect himself, push back his worry for the boy, before going to push open the door with his good hand. The interior was dark; they’d always kept the lights off, wanting this place to continue looking just as abandoned as it appeared on the outside. Slowly, he crept in further, steps quiet on the wooden floor. Silver eyes darted about, willing his vision to adjust quickly, trying to tighten the grip on his sword. Just a precaution.

Squalo listened for any scuffling, any sort of movement, even simple breathing. He wouldn’t speak until he knew for sure that Takeshi was there, somewhere. And that he was unharmed.

If he’d managed to get himself bitten in his escape, he was going to be pissed.