ArchivedLogs:Zombie Survival Party

Zombie Survival Party
Dramatis Personae Anette, Killian, Pedro
In Absentia	2016-01-06 "The world is a prettier place with alcohol."
Location <BOM> The Spatters - Ascension Island
The apartment is livelier than usual. While a far cry from packed, it definitely holds more people than it's usual two occupants. Like any party, they've broken up into their little sub-groups, intermixing only long enough to get themselves more food or drinks. Speaking of drinks, there's more or less a bar taking up the island. Nearly every drink imaginable and more than one brand of each present, there's enough booze to sufficiently liquor up everyone here and then some. The food has slightly less thought put into it. A couple bowls of chips and pretzels, some boxes of pizza, just enough to ward off any munchies. A stereo system is set up against the wall with the music being free reign, anyone welcome to plug in music players or insert a CD as they wish. Anette is, like any good host, currently liquoring herself up. She stands by the island, pouring herself what appears to be a very complicated drink, using a variety of alcohols and mixers. For once, she's opted out of the t-shirt and jeans look and is actually wearing, of all things, a dress. A silver cocktail dress in fact, with one shoulder that conveniently covers /that/ shoulder and a back low enough to allow her wings to sit comfortably and freely. She remains barefoot though (one of the benefits of hosting a party in your home). Pedro is dressed in what appears to be a sleeveless tuxedo, complete with a black bowtie. He, like Anette, has chosen to go barefoot as well. He wanders the party with a small silver tray, retrieving empty glasses and delivering full ones. The batty mutant seems to be in good spirits, stopping often to chat and joke with people throughout the cabin. When he has a moment, he takes the time to gobble down grapes and strawberries. There's no sneaking in when the familiar black and white furred dog arrives, taking advantage of the door being open by those who come and go. However, being on all fours and not exactly coordinated- is he drunk as a /dog/?- he's quite the tripping hazard. There's a "Hey!" and a "The fuck, Killian!" that announces his arrival, along with the tell-tale clatter of plastic red cups and wet splash of dropped drinks, as pair aren't paying attention and take a spill over him. Then there's a small chorus of shrill yelps when alcohol goes everywhere. Oh yes, the border collie shakes the liquor from his coat, well-supplying everyone's clothing around him with a shower of it too. When he emerges out of all of this, there's a clear sway to white-pawed steps, often criss-crossing over each other as he eventually makes his way to the island with a brief ear perk in recognition of Anette and Pedro, and then laze back to either side at seeing Anette and Pedro. But of course, one shake isn't enough to dry-clean his coat and as soon as pauses at the source of booze, he shakes yet again nose to tail. No, the dog definitely does not go unnoticed. It really isn't often you see a dog shit-faced. So naturally, Anette can't help but stand behind the island, her drink in hand, watching the dog nearly bowl through everyone with some amusement. Hell, even when he begins shaking the alcohol off himself, she begins laughing instead of yelling at him. Clearly she's had a few in her as well. Raising her drink to her lips, she takes a tentative sip, before setting it down and pouring just a splash of vodka in. Just in time to get his with the collie's second bout of shaking. "Sonofa...you're getting wet dog all over the apartment!" she yells, though her grin continues to grow, clearly she's not overly concerned. As Pedro passes by with a plate of dishes, she laughs and playfully swats him with a wing. "God you're too responsible, just leave it for tomorrow! Make yourself a drink and try to have fun." Pedro spots the drunken dog before stumbling over Killian, and steers clear. He manages to turn away as the dog performs his second shake. Grinning toothily, he pats the dog's head with the tip of a wing. "Geez Killian. You need to change into something bigger so that you'll be less sloshed. And hope that you remembered to dress." The bat blinks as he's swatted by Anette, and he just shakes his head. "Once we get a few of these folks out and off home, I'll loosen the belt and tie. Besides, I am enjoying myself, getting to chat with everyone." He eyes Anette up and down, and grins, "Also, daaaaang, you should wear a dress more often. You make them smokin' hot." Pedro winks cheekily and gives Killian another pat before heading into the fray once more. The dog's form lurches slightly with a hiccup, as unfocused eyes look between the two, and then mouth opens with tongue lolled between teeth. There's no dedicated reaction to be pat on the head- maybe a benefit of being a bit more than tipsy. "You owe me!" Comes a female voice from the entrance, distraught over her dress. But no effort goes into looking back, fur melting away until pelt becomes his typical black leather jacket and jeans, and a grey-blue undershirt. He has shoes unlike the hosts, but they're untied and he clearly looks /disheveled/. "Fuckshifting." He mumbles under a bemused chuckle, "Killing my buzz." Not terribly much, though, clearly, as he requires grabbing onto the edge of the island to steady himself to stand and take a cup himself. "Rum?" He asks, observing their glorious collection. And then, to Pedro at his suggestion, "No," He tips the /empty/ cup at him, "Just means I gotta drink /more/. Ain't got enough bottles for that. What they got for you, bat, is fruit-flavored liquor. If you ain't tried it yet, get to it. Shit so sweet," He grimaces as if he himself doesn't have a taste for it, shaking his head, "But nothing as good as plain rum." But then there's a wink at Anette, "Right sweetheart?" As Pedro praises her dress, Anette smirks and winks in response. "Only for special occasions. Wouldn't want to spoil you," she teases. "Don't be chasing everyone off yet! It's not every day we get a chance to party like this." "Captain, Admiral, Shipwreck, Bacardi..." Anette begins listing off the top of her head as Killian asks about the rum. Killian's comment about shapeshifting gets an amused chuckle. "Then /don't/!" she says, picking a bottle of rum from random and slides the entire thing over to him. "Oh, I have my moods. I don't mind the fruity cocktails now and then," she says as they discuss what she prefers to drink, a playful smirking dancing across her lips. "But plain rum will always hold a special place in my heart. Or liver. Tonight...tonight is whatever's fun," she says, lifting up her drink in a mock toast and tilting back, taking a large chug of...whatever the hell she poured herself. "Do you mean fuck shifting?", Pedro asks of Killian when he returns to unload the tray, and reload it with fresh drinks, "Or fuckshifting? 'Cause that sounds like two different things. And I can drink more than just fruit flavoured drinks." The batty mutant looks to Anette, "Would you pour me a rum then, please? And uh, I don't think any of us would mind horribly if we were spoiled a bit more often." Setting the tray down for a moment, he turns to lean against the island. "So. Did you think, weeks ago, that we'd get here..?" Killian tips his head towards the Captain, but reaches for it himself without waiting. Good choice, he seems to say without words. Pouring a liberal amount, filling his cup, he almost misses stopping before it overflows. It, too, is lifted in compliance of Anette's cheers before he takes back at least a third of it in a single effort. "The first. You wouldn't mind nearly so much how I say it if you had a couple in you already." The shapeshifter persists, after unclenching his jaw following the sharp drink. "Should've been like this all damn apocalypse. People would'a been far easier to deal with if they weren't all bent outta shape 'bout a few undead biters." His understatement is rather seriously said, given it's the cause of celebration. "But maybe alcohol.. uncontrollable anger.. Sure that couldn't go wrong either." There's a more full laugh at that as he picks a counter to lean back on with one palm, his other hand busy slowly rotating that cup of his. "I'm /pretty/ sure the second is technically illegal," Anette says with a grin, lifting her drink up to take a large gulp and leaving it at that. Anette takes the random bottle of rum she had grabbed and passes it to Pedro as he asks for it. "Be careful and don't feel compelled to keep up, you're dealing with professional," she warns Pedro, ticking her head towards Killian with a grin. "I really don't want to peel you off the bathroom floor." The comment about here gets a soft 'hmmph' and another drink. "Here? You mean alive? I'm happy if I make it to the next day, I try not to think too much further than that." She takes another sip, slower this time. "Some details are a surprise though." Killian's commentary about how they should have handled the apocalypse gets a loud laugh, barely able to pull the cup away to avoid choking on it. "Can you imagine our little...incident if we had both been smashed out of our minds? Would've taken more than a tornado to tear us apart." She tilts her head back, finishing off her drink with a few gulps, taking a moment to let the drink settle and sudden dizziness pass. "God I almost forgot how great this felt..." "Hah, let him." Killian shakes his head, quickly dismissing Anette's warning, "It's a good lesson. If he ain't had it, he needs a night or two over the porcelain god." Though to her, he changes course onto the subject of their unfortunate interaction, "Smashed may have had a better outcome, love. Can't imagine my aim bein' so great if there were five of you." He manages to polish off the rest of that cup, despite its large amount. He levels it at her as if pointing as he squints, "This is something we should absolutely do more. You go clubbing? I don't go clubbing. Too many people, not enough ways out." Of course that's his concern. He sets his now-empty drink down to be able to close the distance between them, a hand touched to her lower back. "But so many better places to get drunk. Hard to fly drunk though- last two times, didn't end so great." Suddenly serious, but not without a continued smirk, "You mastered drinking and flying?" "I guess there really is only one way to learn..." Anette says, watching Pedro wander off to be the better of the two hosts. "Clubs? Hell yeah. Though there aren't many that are ok with obvious mutants. The one club I did like is closing. Apparently apocalypses are bad for business." Anette begins pouring herself another cup, though judging by the shakiness of her pouring and the distinct lack of mixer to the vodka, this might be a bad idea. "What would we do more...drink? Guys only say that for one reason and...well, you're already getting that reason," she says, the edges of her words just starting to blend together. "But yeah, I go clubbing." She takes a large gulp of her cup, the grin permanently plastered across her face drooping a bit as the 'incident' is discussed. "Yes, because us being shitfaced would have made it /so/ much better. The last thing I needed is to be passed out on the floor and you decide to snack on a wing." His mention of other places to get drunk quickly restores that faintly amused grin. "And where would those places be? Besides our cabins. Though it does make stumbling back to rooms that much easier." His question about drunk flying gets a laugh, her head tilting back faintly. "The last time I flew drunk, I was hit by a Sentinel dart. Though I'm alright at it, I can usually get from point A to B." "The world is a prettier place with alcohol." Killian says on what they would do, "Get drunk and watch the stars until you pass out under 'em, find a beach you've never been to and take a dip- without clothes of course. Useless things." The latter is a very set statement, "Not that we need the excuse of liquor to go places we shouldn't, but, it can be far more entertaining that way." His brow furrowed, he makes this seem particularly serious even if he doesn't quite manage it being drunk, and getting drunker. "Mmm.. you know, I can't even promise you that wouldn't happen on a good day." He states in regards to making a meal of her wing, "Drunk or not." He squeezes her with that hold briefly a little longer and then releases to take the Captain bottle once more, this time not bothering to put it in a cup since there's only a bit left in the bottom. "That's unfortunate." He says, swaying lightly, and lifting a knuckle up to his lips to catch some of the rum that escapes over them. "Not something to repeat. We should fly somewhere- anywhere." Not the city, is implied. Anette leans into his hand, and only partially because she's drunk, her mind drifting as Killian begins describing what activities they would do while drunk. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were suggesting dates..." she murmurs, eyes beginning to flutter shut either as the liquor continues to take effect or to better picture each scenario. "Though they do sound nice." His comment about munching on wings gets a smirk and raised brow, looking up to him. "Bad dog," she warns, pressing her wings tightly to her body though she's clearly only teasing. Once she's released, she almost seems disappointed but takes a half step back, propping one elbow against the island, taking a few tries before she's actually steady, and taking a large gulp of her own drink as Killian works on finishing the bottle of rum. "Unfortunate tends to describe most of my adventures. I'm all for destroying Sentinels again, I'd just prefer the next round to be sober." One more swig of vodka and a quick lick of her lips and she glances out the window, thinking as Killian suggests they fly. "Anywhere huh? Yeah...yeah, we could do that." "Dates. Strong word." But not /wrong/ the way he watches her, with even less reservation if that were possible. "Bad dog /is/ the general consensus. And I can be.. a lot worse." Her lean into his hand earns a light, and of course suggestive rubbing of his thumb there. "But that's old news." Killian holds up the bottle he's claimed again, dismissive, his brow furrowing in the delight of fogged, alcoholic mind. He tilts it back, draining a good portion of the remainder. A heavy exhale and he starts moving towards the door. "Outside, love. Claustrophobic little cabins." The latter is mumbled as he uses the hand she'd leaned into to guide her away from the kitchen island and towards the door. "Destroying sentinels while intoxicated. That sounds like a party. Fuck 'em up and laugh while doing it. Maybe a lil less tipsy for aim. But if you can fly when you can't fuckin' see straight, probably damn good at it anyway." "It /is/ a strong word. But that doesn't answer my question. Is that what you're suggesting?" Anette asks, her words slurring together. With her own, nearly finished drink in one hand, she quickly swipes a bottle at random before following Killian outside, not quite taking a straight line even with Killian's guidance. His commentary on her last adventure his let with the loud laugh only a sufficiently drunk person can manage. "Ask Ion how that went. Only managed to knock a few of them together before being hit by a dart. Second time I went up against them. The first was...was future actually. Didn't..." Hiccup. "Didn't do so well then either. If we ever destroy Sentinels, I'm gonna be sober." "Does it matter? Once you put a name to something, gotta own up to it. Like a dog tag. Fido, Rover, Lucky. Then you gotta feed it, walk it." Et cetera, his trailing off seems to pronounce. Drunk is chatty, certainly, but still as evasive as ever. "Even sober," This, about as slow and serious as Killian seems to be able to get at the moment, "Sentinels are a bitch. Can't say if it will make it more or less pleasant." He knows well enough 'pleasant' isn't the word to put there, and it makes him chuckle to himself, a breathy thing that too-easily shrugs off the seriousness of the subject. "You know Hook mountain?" He sways slightly when they finally get outside, standing straighter and leaning a bit into that hand he's got on her. "Bit north, bit of a flight. Maybe won't be too much headache to get there. Liver there a while. Want you to see it.” “Yeah, but it's..." Whatever it is seems to evade Anette's mind. Such is the drunk mind. "Just thinking lately I kinda miss that...stuff. S'all." Apparently liquor does not do Anette any favors in the subtlety category either. "Sober, you and I can destroy ever goddamn Sentinel in the city. But sober. And no kids." Because children would be a logical and obvious obstacle to Sentinel hunting. As he begins describing Hook mountain, she leans into him, resting her head against him and staring off vaguely into the direction he motions. "Never been. We could go. Not now, can barely walk. Might get motion sick if I tried flying. But we can go. What's so special about it?" "Never had that 'stuff', wouldn't know." May or may not be a lie, given how he breezes over it. Killian's gaze has strayed to the sky, despite what he'd said about being a terrible drunk flyer. And when she says the word /kids/, the shapeshifter's eyes narrow. Focusing, thinking. Hazey mind is not one to be given /that/ concept. "How you go from taking a day off alcohol to kids?" That's playful, but cautious, his blue eyes glancing to her. "Y'know what a halfway house is?" There's a darker, rough laugh with that, too amused by it even though the concept shouldn't be funny. "Think I told you I'got stuck for a year, forgot my handsome-ass face." He furrows his brow through the alcohol, gesturing in the vague direction of 'north'. "Spent most of that shit in Palisades. Didn't know where the fuck I was, and it sure didn't matter at the time." He tips his bottle back again. "When I got my head on straight, stayed at Hook for a-" He hiccups, a knuckle going to cover his mouth briefly, "inbetween. Watched the city for awhile, started remembering." Anette gives a faint chuckle, shaking her head. "Talking about Sentinels. In the future, I'm shot down by one and I had a...I had a child with me. Son. Just a baby." The giant gulp she takes from the bottle may or may be coincidental, it's hard to tell. She listens to Killian discuss his past, more or less paying attention as the alcohol allows. "I'm amazed. You've been through hell and you more or less come out of it. I fucking dream a hell that won't even fucking happen and I get addicted coke." Again, the exact reason for the large gulp of rum is unclear. "So were you the dog? Or were you summin else?" Killian swirls the bottle and its remaining contents, watching it a bit longingly, despite partaking in it liberally thusfar. "And this kid. This something you want someday?" There's weight in this, but not much, and "What else?" did she see, he means. But following her assessment, there's a pained laugh, hoarse and then drowned by another drink. After a swallow and a moment of quiet, he seems drawn to ask, "Have you met me, love?" Is he really so okay?, that question implies. "Not a dog. Couldn't fuckin' focus, so I was whatever I saw. Bobcat, bird, coyote. Whatever to not be eaten. Don't really remember much of it. But the land- freedom. Good to fly. No lights, less people. Stars-" He shrugs unevenly, and since they aren't about to try to fly and run into any powerlines tonight, he leans back against the side of her cabin, intending to slide down to sit there. It's less comfortable to just keep standing when the world isn't quite straight. Anette continues to stare off into the distance, silent for a few moments. "I don't know," she says quietly. "I didn't think so. The kid wasn't planned in the future either but...I still loved him, y'know? So maybe a kid wouldn't be so bad. Except for the part I can't keep a kid safe." She takes a gulp, this time very much in response to the surfacing memories. "What I saw? You really don't want to fucking know." Not that it stops her. "Alone with a kid, captured by sentinels, broken out of a...a fucking Nazi mutant camp. Fly to Canada to find Daken who spent a year thinking I was dead and profess our love for each other. Go to rescue the kid and die in a process." She takes a deep breath. "I know it sounds stupid but it really shook me up." With another swig of rum, she distracts herself with Killian's description of a previous life. "That sounds really nice though. Can't blame you for hiding out for a year." She follows Killian to the floor and sits perhaps not the most elegantly considering the dress she's wearing but it's not like there's anyone else around. Killian listens, and when she sits with him, he would adjust to lay his arm across her shoulders to draw her to him. He rests his head back against the cabin's log wall. There's a considering 'hmph' noise that he breathes, before he takes a heavy, slow inhale, to be released just as slowly. "Well, when you see everything you will have go to shit, can't imagine wanting to do anything else than forget it." His eyes close, reveling in the buzz in balance with all the serious. "Everything's always going to shit, anyway. Least we can do is raise hell while we can, fuck 'em all." The next drink is a longer one, and it unfortunately finishes the bottle. "Dunno if I'd call it hiding. Guess you can if you want. Don't matter. None of it matters. Forget all that shit. Different future. What would you make it? Besides takin' out all those motherfuckers out. Clean slate. We already took over the world.." And so on and so on, he gestures, because it's just that easy. Anette leans against Killian as he drapes an arm across her shoulders, leaning into him, her head resting on his shoulder. "You are possibly the first person to understand. Everyone else acted like I was insane. Not that they were wrong..." She picks up her bottle and after taking a swig, sets it down between her and Kilian, easily within his reach. "It was just...all this stuff I swear I didn't want, realizing I wanted it, and then losing it. It fucks with the mind." His description of the current state of the world gets another chuckle, a hand reaching up to comb a few strands of hair from her face. "Yeah, everything is going to shit. Always figured I'd end up going down, only difference is how many I take with me." She takes the empty bottle, looking it over carefully as if double-checking it is indeed empty. "I'd call it hiding. It's what I would've done if I were you. The future? I don't even plan for tomorrow. Usually don't expect to live until tomorrow, let alone a year from now. But what I make it? Dunno. Start letting people in, I guess. The loner thing is getting lonely."