Kenny (
enervated) wrote in
derogation2014-08-06 01:43 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.]
no subject
Shit.
The dawning realization is visible.] How is the infection spread? Am I infected?
no subject
No fuckin' clue, kid. I ain't exactly a scientist. And in two years I haven't met one.
no subject
no subject
[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.
no subject
no subject
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'.
no subject
no subject
[He laughs once, quietly, bitterly.]
Which... I ain't plannin' on doin'. Sorry.
no subject
Do you have a knife?
no subject
[He hasn't carried one for years now.]
I prefer firearms or a crowbar. Knives ain't too useful for killin' walkers.
no subject
A corpse of Dorian is now on the floor. Wow.]
no subject
Kenny stiffens. His arm shakes, his shoulders shake. He didn't know this man but - it hits him anyway because suicide, suicide in front of him, these subjects cut and wound him deeply and he presses his hands against his forehead, his eyes.
Against the one, his ruined one, he's pressing hard enough it's shifting around the shattered fragments of bone under the skin. It doesn't hurt enough to distract him from the fact a man just killed himself.]
F... fuck...
[He needs to get up. The odds of the man reanimating are low - it was a- suicide to the head, blow to the head, damaged brains don't reanimate, but in case it didn't.
So he stands. He shakes even then. And he crouches down to Dorian's body. He doesn't have his crowbar or a firearm with him. If there is any reanimation, he needs a weapon.
He grabs the fire poker. He puts a foot on Dorian's shoulder. And out comes the fire poker with one rough tug. Then he stands upright, holding it tightly in his hands.]
You stupid... fuck...
[His voice is quiet, upset.]
no subject
Ow.
[He rubs the blood away.] Can I get a hand up? Head injuries always make me a little queasy.
no subject
He slams the fire poker furiously down into Dorian's skull.]
You stupid! Fucking! Kid!
[Why'd you have to do this, kid? Why did you fucking kill yourself and then reanimate?]
no subject
no subject
The fire poker comes down on Dorian's skull again. And again. And again. Most of the regretful emotion that he had, the shock and horror over this young man killing himself in front of him is gone, replaced with a wild eyed madness. Replaced with aimless, low burning fury. Again, again, again, again. Until his shoulders hurt, and he collapses down into the chair he had been sitting in before Dorian killed himself.
The fire poker is spread over his lap, and he sits there in a slight, furious daze. Kenny swallows harshly.
Absently, one now blooded hand goes up to his eye to wipe at it. He's started crying, but not enough for him to get caught up in the emotion.]
no subject
no subject
That's it. His mouth agape, his eye wide. What. The. Hell.]
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
That isn't-
You can't just- live after...
no subject
And yet I do. Funny how that works. At any rate, it seems to suggest the virus isn't a problem for me. Certainly not yet.
no subject
I, uh... I don't know how to handle this.
[He doesn't.]
no subject
Do you want something to drink? Tea, coffee, scotch?
...Beer?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)