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: (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?
depicted: (Default)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-19 11:19 pm (UTC)(link)
That would make a lot of sense. [Dorian searches his mantle for something. Ahah! A fire poker.] If I come back as a zombie, kill me. If I don't, don't worry about it. [Dorian spins the fire poker around and then slams it through his eye into his skull.

A corpse of Dorian is now on the floor. Wow.]
depicted: (we're going to hell we're going to hell)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-19 11:35 pm (UTC)(link)
[Dorian opens his perfectly intact eye.]

Ow.

[He rubs the blood away.] Can I get a hand up? Head injuries always make me a little queasy.
depicted: (Default)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-20 12:18 am (UTC)(link)
[Dorian's out again because a guy is killing him with a fire poker. Dammit. Dying sucks.]
depicted: (you live in a world of excess)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-20 12:29 am (UTC)(link)
[The blood and the mess stays, so it's likely easy not to notice at first. Except, eventually, the awful mangled horror of Dorian's face comes back together under the gore. And this time, Dorian gets up quickly.] Don't hit me again, for the love of God!
depicted: (brother don't matter)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-20 01:04 am (UTC)(link)
[Dorian helpfully explains.] I'm immortal.
depicted: (anything we should know)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-20 01:09 am (UTC)(link)
Yes. I can kill myself again if that will prove the point.
depicted: (cigarettes and chocolate milk)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-20 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
[But why not.]

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.
depicted: (anything we should know)

[personal profile] depicted 2014-08-20 01:34 am (UTC)(link)
[Dorian considers Kenny's situation.]

Do you want something to drink? Tea, coffee, scotch?

...Beer?

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