STEALING A PAGE FROM SCRIBBLES' BOOK AND OFFERING OPTIONS

[enervated]

[OPTION A: LONG DEAD WINTER]

[Walking Dead universe, here. Virginia in winter. And up near the mountains, to boot. Not the best place to be, but sometimes you're forced to play the hand you're dealt. And the cold slows down the dead, so there are worse places one could be.

It's just about the only 'good' thing that has happened to Kenny in the past week, and even then, the 'good' it is is highly up for debate. Though honestly, the bad is still stacked high, especially now. A herd separated the group and he's just trudging on through the cold streets trying to locate even ONE of the group. He'd prefer Clementine, if he had to think about it, but he wouldn't turn down Mike. Or even Bonnie. Luke... Luke, well, Luke- he doesn't want to encounter Luke, the fucking turd. Kenny's already chalked this fuckup to Luke, the boy's as bad as fucking BEN, and that takes some real talent. Some real, real talent.

He just keeps moving; a true figure of depressed, PTSD determination stalking his way through the cold, mostly empty streets. One hand on his firearm, the other on a knife. Firearm for survivors. Knife for the dead. To say he's prepared to stop anything that might slow him down from getting back with the group is an understatement.

Man, fuck this town though, how the hell is he supposed to find anybody here?]

[OPTION B: AN UNFAMILIAR PLACE]

[Your character's universe.

The last thing he remembered was the showdown against the fucking Russians. Russians. In Virginia. Of all the things. The kid in the leg brace pointed the finger at them for something they hadn't done, ambushed the lot of them. And then when Kenny fired his gun - Clementine called for help and he had given it without hesitation - they assumed he was firing at them instead of putting down someone who deserved a better life than what had unfolded. The Russians began firing at all of them, and in turn they (Mike, Bonnie, Luke, Kenny) began shooting as well.

He had one of the sons of bitches right in his sights.

And now he was here. On the ground. It didn't feel cold, and he didn't feel DEAD. Slowly, he opened his one working eye.

This... was not a cold, snowy road outside of some town in Virginia.]

Oh shit...

[OPTION C: BLIND LEADING BLIND]

[Wildcard. You get to make up the shit here, it could totally be anything.]

Comments

[depicted]

[Dorian looks over the side of his bed at the person who has suddenly appeared there

He stares a moment longer.]

I'm certain we didn't have sex last night. Who are you?

[enervated]

[Ahahaha oh my god anyway my laughter aside.

Yeah, Dorian, you definitely did not sleep with this man. Greying 43-ish year olds who never take off their orange baseball hats don't quite seem your type. It's even more obvious that this man was not engaged in that sort of activity when, at the sound of a voice, he seems to startle somewhat.

And by somewhat I mean he immediately goes into 'what is this' mode and 'what is this' for Kenny, in this situation, involves him getting straight out of the bed via falling on the floor because he hasn't been in a bed for two years and is used to sleeping on the ground. Not that he was sleeping at any point in time but he was laying down so the assumption was he was on the ground.]

Ugh... fuck-

[He has smacked his head on the floor. His hat still remains on his head though. Great job, hat.]

...the hell am I?

[Bonking his head seems to have taken the steam out of him that he had to get out of said bed since there was a someone. He is now just laying on his side on the floor. Confused.

He does not answer who he is because suddenly disorientated by falling off a bed.]

[depicted]

You're in my bed. [a pause] You're on my floor, now.

[Dorian leans over so he can see Kenny, but he doesn't get out of bed. He is not willing to leave the comfort of blankets.] Why?

[enervated]

[Kenny stares up at Dorian from the floor, from which he is loathe to move from in the confusion he is in. Though he does scowl some, though lets be read it's a confused scowl. He is mad but also confused. Mostly confused. And angry. It's a rough feeling.]

Does it LOOK like I know why I'm here?

[He grunts, and pushes himself up onto his elbows.]

'cause I sure as hell don't. Fuck. You didn't find me on the side of a road shot all to hell an' drag me in?

[Because that... makes... a little sense. He could have been in a coma. And some guy found him on the road. And took him... here. Okay but that doesn't answer why this guy is asking why he's here- if he found him on the side of the road half dead then he'd know why he was here.

Kenny moves into actually sitting, and he slowly checks his jacket for bullet holes. He had to have gotten hit ONCE in that shootout. Somewhere. Yet his slow examination reveals nothing but old, dried blood.]

[depicted]

Nnnooo? [The word gets dragged out in Dorian's confusion.] Generally speaking, I call a hospital when I find someone riddled with bullet wounds. Not much of a surgeon.

[enervated]

[He's still looking over his jacket, his shirt, his pants as Dorian is talking. He's not shot. Those Russians had awful aim. Serves them fucking right for ambushing them.

He's about to check for his gun when his brain finally acknowledges three words Dorian has said. Kenny turns his head towards Dorian, tilting it slightly. His one eye is wide, and one could almost say they could see some sort of confused terror in it. The confusing fear of some sort of unknown.]

Call a hospital? The fuck do you mean, 'call a hospital'?

[depicted]

[um??] I mean I'll use a telecommunications device, like my mobile, to contact an institution full of medical professionals who know how to treat bullet wounds.

What could I mean?

[enervated]

[Kenny lumbers to his feet. God, he looks a mess. Blood stained green jacket. Yellowing, blood stained (formerly white) t-shirt. Dirty, bloody jeans. He's truly a vision of a man who hasn't done laundry in literally years. For a moment, he is still in that 'vague fear of the unknown' realm, looking around the room before settling to look at Dorian again.

And his confusion and fear merges into anger. Anger at this man thinking he's stupid, at the fact he's obviously mocking him. He isn't as harsh as he could be, but when he speaks, he's still rough.]

There ain't been fuckin' phone calls or hospitals for TWO YEARS.

[Who the fuck is this asshole trying to fool?????]

[depicted]

[Why is this stranger shouting at him? It's really rude! Dorian straightens up, bristling.] Where have you been, the American woods? Of course there have been! Look outside!

[allthatmatters]

She's gotten so used to absurdity that she barely blinks when he appears in her path. She almost just sidesteps and moves on - she's not so far ahead of the latest demon gang that she can afford to lollygag.

But he's still alive, and he's a human being, and fuck it all.

She kneels down carefully - she's strapped with so many weapons, nowadays - and peers at him. He's in bad shape, but not the worst she's seen lately. He seems more confused than hostile.

"Any idea why you just appeared in Hell?" Her tone is wryly conversational, even as she strains her ears for approaching hoardes.

[enervated]

Kenny stares up, for a moment, at the woman who has entered his view. She looks tough, he thinks to himself automatically, but then, who isn't tough these days? Even kids are tough as nails to get by. At least she isn't killing him. If he saw someone in his shape laying on the road, he'd put a bullet in their head just to be safe.

Then she speaks, and what she says strikes him in just the right way. He smiles, closes his eye. And he laughs- a bitter, unhappy, a little unhinged one.

"Lady. I've been in hell for two years."

Of course, he means different than her, but he doesn't know that.

[allthatmatters]

A wry smile curves her lips. "Then you've got some time on me." Well, depending on how you define hell. She's been in worse places that a demon-infested city, she just found them inside herself.

"Can you stand?" She'll quizz him later, but right now they need to move. "I've got a safehouse not too far from here." Well, okay, it's an abandoned dealer room with a lot of booby traps, but it works.

[enervated]

"Yeah, I can stand."

He's not sure where he is, but at the moment he's focusing on the fact this lady is highly armed. Highly armed means threats, which gives him a secondary something to think about. Possible walker attacks, possible bandit groups, any array of the lethal and dangerous that he's truly familiar with.

Ken pushes himself up onto his feet and doesn't bother dusting himself off. His clothes are already caked with dry blood and two years of near constant wearing. What does a little more dirt matter?

With something to focus on, he seems a little bit composed. "You got a group, or you alone?"

Loners are dangerous. Groups are dangerous. But it's still best to know.

[allthatmatters]

She stands and steps back, gives him room.

"I've got a network." It sounds so official, when she says it like that. Less like a bunch of desperate survivors trying their damndest not to die horribly. "Sometimes we go in groups, sometimes we go alone. Tonight was supposed to just be reconnaissance, but you know. Plans."

She keeps it general, for now. He could be some kind of shape-shifting spy, or one of the subtler half-demons. It's a risk, taking him to a safe place - but it's a risk leaving him behind, too. She's tired of having innocent blood on her hands.

[enervated]

He looks her over again. Yeah, she's not trying to hide her weapons. Either a well armed friendly, or someone who wants to seem friendly to stab you in the back. Heh. Walt'd be chewin' me out if he knew I was bein' paranoid. But he has all reason. The latest groups he's found have not been friendly. The last group, well, that ended in a gun fight.

"I get that..." he trails off as he looks around for his own rifle- which is not around. Alright then. He'll have to play it safe. "Had a fella, he set up a little early warnin' system around one of our places way back."

That's the closest they had to reconnaissance. "Take it you got a number of folk then. Good to hear."

[allthatmatters]

"Good call." Some of their places have got - magical alert systems, or some crap. She doesn't trust it.

Kate glances behind her, eyes narrowing against the dimming light, before looking back at him. She checked for weapons immediately, automatically. If she doesn't arm him, he's a sitting duck; if she does...

Compromise. She slides a knife out of her thigh holster, and flips it so the hilt is facing him.

"If you stab me in the back I will shoot you in the face." The words are light, but utterly sincere.

[enervated]

Kenny takes the knife from her, weighs it in his hand. As he's examining it, he replies, "Lady, I don't appreciate bein' called what you're implyin', but I'll let it slide since I'm thinkin' the same thing about you. But I ain't gonna stab you in the back unless you give me a reason."

He looks up from the knife as he slides the blade between his belt and his old jeans. He isn't going to ask for the proper holster, nor is he going to keep it held. It's symbolic, in it's way, him saying with the move 'look, see, I trust YOU, now don't I?' when really he doesn't.

"And I don't think you're gonna GIVE me a reason, now, are ya?"

b?????????

[dadmode]

Fuck, Ken. What happened to you?

[Seriously, he looks like shit. Kenny might notice that he's back in that house. The one where they had to dig up the dog. The boat. All of that. Omid and Christa are talking quietly upstairs. Vernon is already gone with the boat, damn him, and Ben and Clem are in the kitchen.

That leaves Lee and Kenny in the parlor, Ken in particular on the couch, with Lee hovering over him.

But not too close. Because he doesn't want to get punched in the jaw.]

You look like someone beat the shit out of you. Christa cleaned it up, but... Jesus.

[enervated]

[Fuck Vernon, for real. What a turd. But now isn't the time for opinions on Vernon's turdery.

When he comes to, it's to the sound of a familiar voice. For a moment, he can't pinpoint how he knows it- it's been a while since he's heard it, almost two years, but- when he opens his only working eye...]

Lee...?

[This can't be real. He's dreaming. Or dead. Or maybe he really is insane like he's so certain the group believes him to be. Kenny exhales harshly; rough and a little shaky. Not because of any physical pains, so much as emotional ones.

God, he missed this man. He doesn't sit up, and just puts his hands over his face. The pads of his fingertips press against his eyebrows before he drags them down along the sides of the bridge of his nose, lightly pressing against his eyes (including the wounded one, like an idiot). His next word is quiet, almost under his breath.]

Fuck.

[He wipes at his eyes then- he isn't crying, but he feels like he might just.]

[dadmode]

[Now that he has a better view of Kenny's face, he's thinking something along the lines of, 'Dude, you need a shave too.' But he doesn't say it, because it feels a bit out of place. Kenny looks like he's been beaten within an inch of his life.]

I should've stopped you. When you charged off like that, I thought you'd come back in five minutes. But then you come back after half a night looking like this...

[He shakes his head, holds out a water bottle.] Here, you need it more than I do.

Who's the son of a bitch who did it? Did you see him? ['Cause Lee is pissed.]

[enervated]

[He doesn't take the water bottle. But he does slowly sit up, and when he does he looks up at Lee. It's clear to see he's... distressed, putting it lightly. The way his eyebrows are up, the way his breathing is slightly quivering, a strong quick sniff. Kenny can't keep his shit together and let's admit it, this is a man who is controlled by his emotions and he just starts to cry.

He wipes at his eyes again, this time actually doing something productive. He doesn't know what to say. Lee's dead. Does this mean he died in the gunfight? God, he's trying to process it but it's hard to try to think shit out when normally you aren't Mr. Think Shit Out, but to add a dead best friend standing around, that just makes it harder.

So, for lack of any words coming to him, he answers Lee's questions, now finally looking down and away from Lee as he does so.]

I, uh, I killed him two days ago.

[But saying something is enough to spur him into saying something more.]

Lee. This isn't... this isn't- real? You... fuck, Lee.

[Okay, it isn't the best 'something more'. But it's what he can manage at this exact moment.]

[dadmode]

What? [Very intelligent, Lee. Seriously though, this makes about as much sense as there being a zombie apocalypse. And having some cancer survivors beat the shit out of them.] You sure as hell didn't look like this two days ago. Guess you got hit pretty hard out there.

[He watches Kenny start to tear up. He figures it's just Kenny realizing he's alive after being beaten within an inch of his life. He sighs and puts the water bottle down.]

... You wanna talk about it?

[enervated]

[Talk about it. Talk about it. He can't believe he's hearing those words. And not in an audacious manner; if only it were, that'd make the whole situation simple. Something more 'how dare he when blahblah', somehow implying that Lee wasn't dead, had never been dead, and everything had been a dream. But it wasn't that simple. Plus Lee always did care about his feelings. And Kenny never thought of the man's desire to discuss feelings as something to be audacious about. But boy would that be easier.

But the thing is. He can't really handle hearing that. He can't hear being asked by the one man he cared about when everything was going to shit. And so he snaps his head up, looking at Lee again, and as evenly as he can manage - while crying, anyway - he speaks.]

Lee, you're DEAD.

[It's not a threat. There isn't the right intonation involved. This is a blunt, upset statement of fact.]

[dadmode]

[Lee chalks Kenny's emotional-ness up to being... well... Kenny. He lost Katjaa and Duck just a couple days ago. It makes sense for him to be upset. And then he gets the shit beaten out of him? Like, yeah, no wonder he's fucking lost it. Lee is pretty patient though, being the cool-tempered best friend. He'll let Kenny cry on him, if he needs to.

However, he's not expecting that to pop out of his mouth. Lee stares at Kenny for a long moment, not quite comprehending. Was that a threat? No-- Kenny didn't sound angry. Just sad, frustrated, defeated maybe.]

What the hell is wrong with you? I'm not dead.

[That's not funny. And the worst thing is, Kenny wouldn't joke about this shit.]

[enervated]

You died two years ago, Lee.

[Kenny's elbows go on his knees, his face in his hands. His shoulders hunch stiffly. He wishes what Lee said was true. That he wasn't dead. Things just - hadn't gone right without him. Maybe for a little while things went okay, but if Lee had been there... maybe those fucking assholes who showed up at the lodge would be alive. Lee would have found a way to save them all. Or minimized the deaths to only one or two. Somehow.

He doesn't lift his head from his hands when he speaks again, his voice slightly muffled.]

So I'm... I'm dead, or dreaming, or I just fucking LOST IT during a fucking shoot out. God, fuck, it's the last one, isn't it?