Kenny (
enervated) wrote in
derogation2014-08-06 01:43 pm
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STEALING A PAGE FROM SCRIBBLES' BOOK AND OFFERING OPTIONS
[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.]
[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.]
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[Everything else is thrown in a pile to be trashed or burned, but Kenny can keep his hat. And he'll get some nice expensive casual clothes left outside the bathroom door for him. Go be clean, smelly Floridan man.]
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But Kenny begrudgingly showers. He's careful with his eye and whatever else and really the whole thing is just a weirdly surreal experience for him. When he gets out, he stares at these new clothes with disdain. But his old ones are gone, so he's forced to wear these.
He shouts from inside the bathroom.]
These make me look like a fucking asshole!
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My fishin' shirts ain't tasteless.
[His eye is also unbandaged, which, to be honest, is really nasty looking. It isn't swollen anymore, so he's managed to open it, but the whole area is still raw and flayed. And his eye itself, the sclera is red with blood, the iris is torn, and he has a clear eight ball fracture. It's quite obvious that the eye is irreparable.
Kenny was kind of hoping maybe he could see out of it. He can't.]
You got anything I could, uh, put on this?
[He points up to his eye. He's kind of eased his voice down too.
Also he has not denied being an asshole. Because he totally is.]
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Dorian reigns in his temper at the sight of Kenny. The eye damage is enough to win even his sympathy. He sighs.] Let me check what I have for first aid. [He steps past Kenny into the bathroom. Dorian does not, as a rule, stock up much on first aid kids, but he does keep a box just in case someone less durable than him gets hurt. He opens the box up and rummages through until he finds some wraps and a pad. He holds them out to Kenny.] Would this work? We can get you to a hospital, if you prefer.
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Yeaaah, gonna decline on the hospital there, kid.
[He takes the pad and wraps and begins, sloppily, covering his eye and wrapping shit up in the saddest excuse for some kind of eye patch in the world.]
I'm havin' enough fuckin' trouble as is with the whole 'hey, look! tv. folks outside! telephones!' shit you're throwin' at me, and hell if I wanna experience that first hand.
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[He goes to get his hat from the bathroom.]
I just- alright, listen to me for a second here. The dead have been gettin' up and eatin' people for two years. Two years. I need a fuckin' bit to deal with the fact that apparently there aren't walkers out there.
[Wow, now that he's showered, he can kind of only barely smell that his hat smells awful. He frowns at it.]
I mean, I fuckin' know this ain't a dream. Or a nightmare. I ain't that stupid. I'm just... kinda hopin' I'll wake up and have a shotgun or an assault rifle pointin' in my face.
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A little.]
A shotgun to the face doesn't seem preferable to a shower and a change of clothes, to me.
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[He puts his hat on. It is ruining the fact he has washed his hair.]
I, uh... don't know how to handle this.
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I . . . I suppose, if that's the point you've reached. There is a guest room down the hall, with a bathroom en suite. You can stay as long as you like.
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And the thing is, he's used to staying with strangers. That's how life is now. You encounter someone and then they invite you to stay, or you prove yourself to have some value to the group to make them want you to stay.
But he has no skills to offer in a 'normal world'. And the kindness of strangers often belies darker intent- he has not forgotten what happened to Mark, and how they all let their guard down in the face of kindness.]
Wouldn't want to burden ya... Dorian, right? I don't got shit to offer in return.
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[TOO MUCH STINKY APOCALYPSE SURVIVOR DNW]
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He can't leave.]
Oh, godDAMNit! Fuck!
[His shoulders tense and he starts to furiously pace.]
I can't stay here. I can't- fuck me, I completely forgot. I'm infected. If this place doesn't have walkers, that makes me the ONLY fucking infected person!
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What?
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I'm infected. And not like 'oh, he got bit, he's gonna start eatin' us any minute now.'
[A beat.]
EVERYONE is infected. No bite necessary. You die, you come back.
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Shit.
The dawning realization is visible.] How is the infection spread? Am I infected?
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No fuckin' clue, kid. I ain't exactly a scientist. And in two years I haven't met one.
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[Is there a chair in this room. I'm saying there is a chair in this room and Kenny fuckin flops down in it and crosses his arms.]
Good luck if you're tryin' to work out if there's some kinda bullshit cure though. It'd be great if there was, but I ain't exactly too optimistic 'bout it.
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First few months, I thought there was a chance it'd all go back to normal. If we just waited it out, survived while we could, somebody'd come up with a cure and we could all go back to what we were doing.
Nobody came up with anything. More folks kept dyin'. Probably wasn't a single fuckin' person trying to work on some 'cure'.
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[He laughs once, quietly, bitterly.]
Which... I ain't plannin' on doin'. Sorry.
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Do you have a knife?
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