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

[enervated]

[He can so shout louder but he isn't he in fact manages to lower his voice some because he remembers that Shouting Is Bad.]

There ain't nothin' outside that I haven't seen in Atlanta. Or Macon. Or Savannah. Or anywhere fuckin' else.

[He does not look outside, he does, however, pace away.]

What the hell's your game?

[depicted]

I don't have a game. I was having a very nice rest until you turned up. [Finally, Dorian gets out of bed. What does he do now that he is out of bed?

He stomps over to his window and flings it open.] Look! [But perhaps Kenny doesn't have to. Because the sounds of Mayfair, with all its automobiles and people, come up through the open window.]

[enervated]

[He doesn't move from where he's standing. Those sounds mean nothing. There are still some running cars- large groups of survivors- it could even be a recording because who the fuck knows why because.

Kenny sets his jaw. Debates for a moment. And then he does, actually, step over to the window and just glances out and-]

...Jesus Christ.

[His voice is quiet. Just a barely muttered breath. His shoulders slump. This has to be a nightmare. He got shot, and he's dying, and he's having a nightmare about the world being the way it used to be as he's bleeding out in the road. That's why there's no holes in his jacket. It's just a horrible, horrible nightmare.]

[depicted]

[Well, that's deflating. All of Dorian's anger comes simmering down because Florida Man Finally Looks Out Window. And he seems confused.]

Do you . . . do you need to sit down?

[enervated]

I- uh- yeah. I do.

[And he does. He goes over and sits on the edge of Dorian's bed without asking. Kenny leans forward a bit, looking down at the floor as things slowly make their way through his thinking process. Hands on his knees. Then his right hand moving to press against his good eye, up to his forehead, across the bandages and into the clumps of hair sticking out from under his hat.

Sorry about this, Dorian.]

[depicted]

[This man needs to shower. But Dorian is so occupied with concern, for once in his life, that this isn't a priority. Instead, he comes over to Kenny's side.] My name is Dorian.

[enervated]

I'm, uh-

[He swallows as a car honks it's horn outside.]

Kenny.

[Ken doesn't really look at Dorian though, he's still busy with most of his thoughts and the fact there was a fucking car horn outside. Who even does that? Who honks a fucking car horn unless they're trying to get the attention of all the dead within a mile or two?]

This is a nightmare, isn't it?

[depicted]

[As before, Dorian hesitates on his words, uncertain of what he's dealing with. It's all too strange.] Not as far as I'm aware.

[enervated]

It's gotta be. Shit like THAT [He gestures to the window.] doesn't happen anymore.

[Kenny inhales, exhales, and sits up straight.]

Alright. I've been shot, I'm probably dyin' on the side of a fuckin' road, then in a few minutes I'll come back and rip off someone's face. Fucking. Great.

[There we go! He's taking some solace in being a little bitter!]

[depicted]

[This is probably not an improvement. God dammit.]

I don't know where you came from, do I?

[He is resigned for having a smelly man who won't take off his hat in his life now.]

[enervated]

I came from Virginia.

[It's true. He did. He was last in Virginia. This poor, poor, ignorant nightmare man named Dorian. It must be great to live in a nightmare and be ignorant about the horror of everything.]

Why'd the hell I get stuck with you, then?

[Clearly Dorian knows the answer to this one. If Kenny is dying and spending his last moments having a nightmare why did he imagine up some weird gay(????????????? kenny is unsure) british man of all things. Why.]

[depicted]

Haven't a clue, sorry. [Um. . . ] If this is a dying dream, you might as well enjoy it.

[a beat TO CALL HIM SMELLY OR NOT TO CALL HIM SMELLY]

Maybe by taking a shower?

[it's too much kenny he's sorry it's to smelly]

[enervated]

[He stares, deadpan, at Dorian.]

Really.

[depicted]

You smell terrible. [He is not apologizing.]

[enervated]

Well, excuse me for living in the apocalypse for the past two years.

[He is not budging.]

It's kinda hard to care about takin' a shower when you're more concerned about BEING EATEN ALIVE.

[depicted]

You're forgiven. But as you are now apparently in a dying dream, you can afford to take care of that problem.

[enervated]

Or it doesn't fuckin' matter since I'm going to die and then come back as a fuckin' walker.

[depicted]

. . . As opposed to a runner?

[wait]

Zombies!! You think you're in a zombie apocalypse. Oh, that explains so much.

[enervated]

Think? Think?

[Oh rip. Here comes the temper again.]

I am in a fuckin' 'zombie apocalypse', asshole!

[depicted]

No, you aren't. There are no zombies in London.

Probably.

[Dorian doesn't know. London has weird shit sometimes. He met zombies in Florida. Why not London? Why not?]

[enervated]

[Kenny suddenly stands and just like, furiously paces away, bristling.]

No fuckin' way. There's no FUCKIN' way that only America gets goddamn walkers and fucking Europe doesn't get SHIT.

[Kenny. Kenny wasn't this supposed to be a nightmare why are you acting like it's real again. Kenny just go take a shower. Please.]

[depicted]

Yeah, it'd only be Madagascar that would escape a plague. America isn't being attacked by zombies. I'd know. It would be on the news, and it isn't. [Dorian grabs the remote and turns on the TV to the news channels because of course he has a tv in his room] See? That's the kind of thing even the BBC can't avoid reporting.

[enervated]

[He has not seen a tv work in years.

So you know what he does? He tries to grab the remote so he can throw it at a wall to break it.]

Stop! Fucking! Doing that!

[STOP TRYING TO SAY THERE ARE NO ZOMBIES YOU TURD.]

[depicted]

[RUDE AS FUCK] Hey, back off! [No he is noT GIVING THE STINKY FLORIDA MAN HIS REMOTE]

[enervated]

STOP TURNIN' ON TVS.

[HE IS SERIOUS ABOUT THIS. STOP TURNING ON TVS. TURN IT OFF RIGHT NOW. LOOK AT HIM. HE IS ENTERING STERN, ONE EYED, SMELLY FATHER MODE.]

Turn that shit off.