somethinghuman | (no subject)

It was just supposed to be a quick lurch down to the thrift store, and then straight back to the apartment.

R had it all plotted out. A quick check to see if any new records or knick-knacks had come in that might catch his eye, a cursory hoodie check, maybe even a quick loiter in an alley to see if there were any wayward rats or raccoons he could make a breakfast of. Then when everything was all good, he'd shuffle back to lay on his floor in silence as he worked up the nerve to text someone... something.

Communicating via emojis was effective, but that didn't mean squat when he was worried about being the annoying dead emoji guy.

There has to be an easier way to reach out to people and really connect.

Still, it didn't matter how many times he grabbed that thought and wrung it like an overused rag. Some things didn't come easy. Like a Zombie trying to work up the nerve to actively engage his maybe-sort-of friends who probably had better things to do than spend an afternoon with the dead guy with the stutter and fish belly handshakes.

So instead, the thrift store. Then maybe later, with some decent music on, he'd work up the nerve to try talking to someone.

Instead, he made it all of three blocks away from his destination before something... weird happened.

His hands had done stuff on their own before. Corpse hands had to be monitored or they got their own ideas. That's how oddball items sometimes ended up in unsuspecting pockets. But they'd never just grabbed the nearest Living hand before. At least not without the intention of eating it.

Struck dumb, R tried to let go. Despite his growing panic and protest, his fingers refused to uncurl.

What the hell, he thought, eyes blown wide in mounting horror. He shook the hand in the misguided hope that momentum might fix it. Nothing. "Oh... sh-shit."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It was that zombie guy. Now Brodie had seen Dawn of the Dead his fair share of times, and the only reason he hadn't gotten the fuck out of dodge when he found out that guy's paleness was less vitamin deficiency and more LIFE deficiency, was that he didn't ACT like a zombie. Sure, the guy seemed like he'd only JUST learned to walk, but he could hold a conversation that was more than just the word BRAINS.

Brodie didn't hate the guy. But that didn't mean he wanted to HOLD HANDS with him.

"Look, I'm flattered," Brodie said, "But I like TITS, alright?"

As he spoke, he tried to pull his hand away, only to find it wouldn't budge.

"What the fuck is THIS shit?"

R wasn't sure if he should freeze or redouble his efforts to let go.

Loud Guy wasn't a bad guy from what he could tell, but he was loud. It flew in the face of R's usual attempts to draw as little attention as possible. Standing on a random sidewalk, hand holding a man who was yelling about that fact, was bound to draw some attention.

The last thing he needed was a mid-day mob to decide he was attacking the guy.

"I... di-didn't... do... it," he said, caught somewhere between mortification and frustration. Please don't make me cut my hand off. Shoe laces are a big enough pain in the ass without doing it one handed. "Some... thing's... wr-wrong."

"Yeah, NO SHIT, something's wrong, Sherlock," Brodie said, trying to tug his hand away again, to no avail, "Let go."

Was this some kind of fucked up Zombie thing? Romance the food, take it back to the lair, all nice and tender, then make with the brain eating? If so, Brodie was NOT about to just go along with it. He'd already be working at a disadvantage if he ended up as an ungrateful undead, what with the hand he was already missing.

What does it look like I'm trying to do? Grunting in frustration, R's free hand groped for Brodie's wrist and when he found it, grabbed on and held steady. Maybe all the flailing was the problem. With a hope and a prayer, he tried to yank his hand free.

Nothing.

Well, nothing on his end. All he really succeeded in doing was jerking the other guy forward like a dog on a leash. Whoops.

"S'not... w-working," he said, staring down at their joined hands in betrayal.

"What do you MEAN it's not working?!" Brodie asked, looking down at their hands and giving another hard tug before looking up at R again. "Just open your goddamn hand, alright?"

Though, come to think of it, Brodie couldn't open his either. It was like his fingers were stuck in a death grip on dead guy's flesh. And it wasn't the GREATEST feeling either. Undead guy was clammy as shit.

In theory it should have been that easy, but even as he tried he was shaking his head. His hand just wouldn't open, the fingers wouldn't uncurl, and it was like something had either glued or sewn them together.

Okay, gross, bad mental image.

"Y-you... let go," he said instead, trying to pry at his fingers with his other hand. Was this rigor mortis? Did Corpses get rigor mortis?

"Yeah, I WOULD if you didn't have me stuck in a DEATH grip," Brodie said, "No offense."

He tugged again, tried to unhook his fingers, even squatted, tugging downward hoping that the leverage might help. He was about to suggest they just run in opposite directions and hope they didn't pull their arms out of the sockets in the process, when it hit him.

SON OF A BITCH.

"You didn't by any chance, eat anything weird today, did you? Do you eat? Did you touch any weird shit?"

R stared, not really sure where that line of questioning was leading. Still, it had to come from somewhere, so he considered. Aside from his usual routine, nothing had really changed. Still hadn't eaten any brains, animals were still a little gross and mostly unsatisfying to eat, and the newest album in his collection had been upbeat and easy to play over and over.

All in all, as same-old as a relatively new lifestyle could be.

Glancing down at their locked hands, he shrugged. "J-just... you."

That counts as weird shit, right?

"Ha. Ha. Real funny," Brodie said, but now, even more than before, this is started to seem like just Darrow bullshit. Brodie's only been in the city about half a year, but Darrow bullshit seems about on par with island bullshit. At least as far as its propensity for leaving him one-handed is concerned.

"This has gotta be some Darrow shit. You know how weird stuff happens for no reason?"

Like those goddamn ice powers.

You mean like magically teleporting here in the first place? As much as R would have been tempted to call bullshit, well, the proof was already there. He was stuck holding hands with a random guy in a city he by no right should be in anyway.

He was also dead and had friends that stretched the concept of normal too thin to see. He probably had to be open minded.

Huffing, he nodded. "Th-think... it'll... last... long?" he asked, still wondering if the wrist chewing idea held any merit.

His zombie friend was gonna get a FOOT TO THE FACE if he decided to try gnawing on Brodie's hand. He only had the one left, and he was pretty fucking protective of it these days.

"No telling," Brodie said, because these things were never predictable. Back on the island they sometimes lasted a weekend, but he'd been blowing ice out of his goddamn hands for DAYS back when he first showed up in Darrow. Even after the whole Iceman schtick had backfired on him.

"Could be a few hours, could be a week. Either way, you'd better not need to rub one out until this is over, because I"m not prepared to deal with that."