enervated: (Default)
Kenny ([personal profile] enervated) wrote in [community profile] derogation2014-08-06 01:43 pm

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.]
depicted: (il nous reste toute une vie pour pleurer)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-12 03:26 am (UTC)(link)
[UGH] Fine!

[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.]
depicted: (you live in a world of excess)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-12 07:12 am (UTC)(link)
You are a fucking asshole! Those clothes are clean, you can buy something tasteless to wear later!
depicted: (I've a hunger for the deviant)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-12 07:24 pm (UTC)(link)
[It is too much hair. Kenny, you are a crime against the clothes you are in.

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.
depicted: (will bring you through the dark)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-12 07:42 pm (UTC)(link)
You can't stay in my house forever. [except Dorian will let him do exactly that]
depicted: (and a question of need)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-12 07:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[The burst of emotions at least gets Dorian to think about what he's saying.

A little.]


A shotgun to the face doesn't seem preferable to a shower and a change of clothes, to me.
depicted: (I've a hunger for the deviant)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-12 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)
[That poor hair. Poor, terrible hair. Dorian mourns it.]

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.
depicted: (cigarettes and chocolate milk)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-12 11:44 pm (UTC)(link)
I don't particularly care either way, but I am a little curious why a man apparently from a zombie apocalypse somehow turned up in my bed, so if you do leave, I'd appreciate having some way to contact you. God knows I don't want it happening twice.

[TOO MUCH STINKY APOCALYPSE SURVIVOR DNW]
depicted: (sordid hearts are far too hard to hide)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-13 04:17 am (UTC)(link)
[Dorian gives an intelligent and fully cognizant reply.]

What?
depicted: (so show me some remorse)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-13 04:23 am (UTC)(link)
[Oh.

Shit.

The dawning realization is visible.]
How is the infection spread? Am I infected?
depicted: (I don't really wanna know)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-13 04:37 am (UTC)(link)
Well, fuck. Now I have to think about how not to spread the zombie apocalypse through London. And neither of us can leave until I work it out. Fantastic. If I have to burn my house down after this I will not be happy.
depicted: (we're going to hell we're going to hell)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-14 05:13 am (UTC)(link)
[congratulations on chair. Dorian drops onto a sofa.] I'm not optimistic as a rule, but I don't fancy the pessimistic alternative.
depicted: (we're going to hell we're going to hell)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-16 04:09 am (UTC)(link)
Say you're right. What are the alternatives to avoid a second round of the zombie apocalypse?
depicted: (you live in a time of decay)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-19 08:21 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, joy. Considering I'd have to go too—hang on.

Do you have a knife?

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